Daisies Waltz with Black Roses
by Austennerdita2533
Summary: Caroline Forbes is a human goddess of the earth; Klaus Mikaelson is the god without a heart. When she discovers that her father contrived her a date with the King of the Underworld without asking, she isn't happy. Is the Underworld truly as hostile and despicable as legend describes it to be? Is Klaus? A fiery adventure holds all the answers. (AU/AH: Hades/Persephone-inspired)
1. Why Not Date in Hell?

_**Because I could not stop for Death,**_

 _ **He kindly stopped for me;**_

 _ **The carriage held but just ourselves,**_

 _ **and Immortality.**_

 _-Emily Dickinson_

* * *

What did Caroline do when she learned that her father had promised her to the King of the Underworld without her consent? Pouted, sulked, and flat-out _refused_ , that's what.

Okay, okay, so an unsolicited date with a god wasn't as bad as marriage, but this wasn't the freaking Old Ages. Fathers just didn't arrange their only daughter's love lives anymore, okay? It was insulting. And humiliating. And damn well _rude._

"I don't want to go," Caroline retorted as she combed through her curls in the mirror.

Bill released a long, tired sigh, and plopped down on the corner of her bed. He wiped a hand over his face.

"Why not?" he asked.

It wasn't like this question hadn't been asked a dozen times already.

Whirling around, she looked obstinate and resolved as her hands flew to her hips, her eyes narrowed at her father.

"Are you kidding me?" she exclaimed. "He literally snuffs out the light in people and you think _I_ —" she placed her hands over her heart "—your so-called precious princess, would be happy about a date you orchestrated _without my knowledge_?"

She tapped her foot and quirked her eyebrow questioningly, waiting for his answer.

"Think of it as an adventure, then, not a date," Bill offered with a meek smile.

Caroline gaped at her father. An adventure? With Klaus Mikaelson? Was he joking? This "adventure" wasn't a shopping trip to Paris or a weekend art excursion in Rome; this was a fiery descent into the seven layers of hell. And she _hated_ saunas! What made him think she'd enjoy the sweltering, scorching heat of the Underworld?

"I thought it'd be a nice change of pace after that hero-haired, Stefan, ran off with what's-her-name to Mystic Olympus. _Again_."

He frowned and shifted uncomfortably, taking a moment to clear his throat.

Caroline had tried to explain many times that Stefan had never recovered from his epic love of Mystic Olympus—or of Elena Gilbert—and how his heart belonged to the purity of the heavens, not to the tainted earth. Or to Caroline. But Bill, a prosaic human of nature, couldn't understand it. He never would.

"I just wanted you to experience something new, honey," he elaborated, "something different." He shrugged and smiled cautiously, careful not to betray too much hopefulness. "Is that so wrong?"

After releasing an exasperated huff, Caroline relented.

"No," she admitted reluctantly, "I guess not." She sighed and sat next to her father on the bed, leaning in to rest her head on his shoulder. "But isn't Klaus a monster? I mean—" she ran her fingers through her hair "—isn't he like the most violent, vicious creature in existence?"

"Was the devil not once an angel?" Bill replied softly.

Caroline pulled back at this, her brow furrowed and her forehead crinkled. Confused. Biblical mythology _had_ described the devil as a "fallen" angel—whatever the hell that meant. She knew she should have paid closer attention in mythical history!

"Give him a chance, Caroline," Bill encouraged. He wrapped her left hand in his and squeezed. He placed a chaste kiss on her temple before retreating to the doorway. "Do that—" he paused "—and maybe he'll surprise you."

His voice echoed from the hallway.

"Sometimes people do."

Caroline collapsed back against her pillows with her mind reeling. Could she do it? Could she approach a known brutal beast with an open mind, with an open heart? As if in answer, the words _take a chance, Caroline_ slammed hard against her heart at the same moment the door closed.

* * *

Klaus hadn't been too keen on Eljiah's suggestion that he _meet new people_. Why should he? What for? He met people all the time when they descended through the cracks from the earth above. When he blackened their souls with the choking arms of death. There couldn't possibly be anything more exquisite, more tragically poetic, than watching life vacate a human's body in gasping, wheezing breaths.

Humans.

They were a tiresome lot, truth be told. Always crying and complaining and caring about things that didn't matter. Like love. The elusive l-o-v-e…what a bloody joke. Didn't these imbeciles know it ravaged their hearts and polluted it with weakness? It infected their minds, their lives, hell—even their _deaths_ —like cancer. It corroded their healthy strength.

The worst part? They let it! Over and over and _over_ again, they let it. Humans allowed love to consume their healthy, rational hearts until nothing remained but the puncturing holes left by desolation.

 _Bloody fools. All of them._

Klaus couldn't remember how many times those poor, miserable wretches clung to him and wailed about some long, lost, unrequited love. Or worse, some _soul mate_ —a fated One who still wandered the earth without them.

"Help me! Help me!" they'd weep, their fingernails digging into shins, into his skin. "My heart—" they'd stammer "—my heart is broken. What do I _do?_ " they'd cry, lips quivering, eyes fierce with desperation "What do I _do_ with all this empty love?"

He'd pat their despondent, drooping heads and stoop to catch their stinging tears with cupped hands, blinking at their distressed faces like a curious child.

"Just pretend it doesn't exist," he'd reply, that callous look in his eye, "Just pretend love doesn't exist."

Then, he'd leave them there alone. All alone. Helpless and afflicted with the kind of loneliness he'd known all his life.

What the hell did these dejected humans want him to do about it, anyway? Silence had blanketed their hope; his words had enriched their despair. Who cared? Not him. He'd told the truth; he'd been honest. Didn't that count for something? Anything?

The god without a heart, people called him. The King of Darkness. Rip him open, slice a knife across the pink tissue beneath, stab him in the pulsating veins of his chest cavity, because it was all the same. It all felt the same to him: hollow and black.

To Klaus, blackness incarnate, love didn't exist. It never did. It never would.

* * *

Breathless at first sight, love at first word.

Klaus saw her for the first time collecting flowers on a lily pad at a duck pond near the edge of her property. Bill said he'd find her here waiting. And waiting she was. But for what? A valiant prince? A knight on a white steed? An archangel with an almighty sword?

A crown of daisies, slightly askew, rested atop her blonde head while her fingers rippled across the water's surface, her sweet, soprano voice echoing through the mossy recess as she hummed, her hands mindlessly plucking daisies petal-by-petal and casting them away like cherished wishes on the wind.

Lightness. Warm sunshine. It pervaded her with such potency that it cast an almost-fragrance in the air around her. Encircling her in a honey-scented aura and illuminating her into a blonde hologram shimmering against the shadowed woodland.

Cowering behind a tree nearby, Klaus breathed in. And out. His chest tingled; it streamed with pumping fervor at the sight of her cheerful smile.

 _Who was this woman?_

"You know," Caroline said, her sassy tone bursting through his silent awe, "this would be a lot less awkward if you came out and introduced yourself. Or said _hello_."

 _An enchantress._

That one sentence was all it took—Klaus had been ensnared.

"Sorry, love." He emerged from his hiding place with his hands slung casually behind his back, his feet squishing against the damp grass. "I didn't wish to disturb you," he explained.

"So you thought stalking was a better option?" she scoffed in reply.

Klaus lifted his lips at this, amused. Humans often bit their tongues around him, not wiggled them at him in defiance. Apparently, she didn't fear him which was oddly…refreshing? This woman, this Caroline, she'd be a challenge. And he loved nothing better than a good challenge.

"I was just waiting for a proper moment to interrupt," he countered.

Stooping to the ground, he retrieved the flowers she'd plucked and handed them back to her, pausing only to procure a solitary yellow daisy just out of her reach.

"Shall we get this over with then, Caroline?" he asked, offering it to her with a gallant smile.

She scrutinized him as he extended the flower, trepidation drumming in his fingertips. Why was he anxious? Over a young woman? Over a trifling human?

Oh, but what a lovely human she was! So innocent with those blazing blue eyes full of wonderment. So free and full vivacity, the blood of the explorer coursing through her veins. So strong-willed, so spirited, so feisty! It was here that Klaus realized something: he was in trouble. _Big trouble_.

Caroline's face betrayed subtle softness as their hands touched along the flower's stem—his lingering just a second too long—a weak smile brushing across her pink lips. She recovered from it quickly, "The sooner, the better, _Klaus_ ," she replied.

Stuffing the daisy behind her ear, she gestured for him to lead the way. "I just hope you believe in electricity..." She peered at him hopefully. "...Night lights?" she asked, biting her bottom lip.

Klaus chuckled, shaking his head. Surely Caroline didn't expect him to need electrical lights or lanterns? Only fire. He needed only fire at his disposal—the kind that singed and seared with destruction, the kind that promised dirt, dust, and decay. Only black ashes beneath his feet crunched with the comforts of _home sweet home_.

"Afraid of the darkness, are we, sweetheart?" Klaus taunted.

Stomping his foot with earthquaking force onto the wooded forest floor, he delighted in Caroline's terrified gasp as a chasm, fiery and boiling, cracked the earth into two severed halves. The smell of charred tar, magma, and fried something filled his nostrils. Ah, how marvelous was that bitter, sweaty aroma of the Underworld?

Caroline recoiled from the edge, her shoes kicking loose pebbles and blades of grass into the gaping abyss...down, down, down it went. Bottomless. Black. Blistering with hear.

"I've never been a fan, no," she said as she stepped backwards, curling into herself. "I'm more sunshine, rainbows, and fresh flowers, thank you very much."

It may be cruel, but Klaus quite relished in observing the trembling young girl petrified and panicked as she stood on the brink of this new ledge. Of this new discovery. Of this new world. The Underworld was a place of genuine beauty, of power, of agelessness...and _he_ got to show it to her. _He_ got to witness Caroline's dark awakening.

Klaus considered her for a moment and then approached. Slowly. "That may be true," he declared in a low voice, head inclined to the side, eyes intent, "but there's an allure to darkness, Caroline. What if your heart is drawn to it?"

A derisive laugh escaped Caroline's throat at this. Chiding him with crossed arms, she said, "There is _no_ allure to darkness, okay? Not one tiny bit." Her demeanor radiated with indignation. "Not for me, anyway."

Klaus stepped before her. Meeting her eyes, which blinked with fear and audacity, he extended his hand to her.

"I guess there's only one way to find out, then," he said, challenge echoing in his voice.

Caroline gulped.

Puzzled? Hesitant? Uncertain? Whatever she was, Klaus couldn't decipher her emotions.

She stared at his fingers for a long moment as if they were hissing rattlers primed with the poison to kill. Lifting her nose in the air, she suddenly placed her soft, warm hand in his. Her grip, firm yet grasping, helped to highlight the resoluteness of her decision as she yanked Klaus closer to her side.

Whether it was out of terror or challenge, he wasn't sure. But either way, he didn't mind.

"I guess so," she answered, her gaze brimming with opposition. With her head ticked to one side, she swung their arms back and forth like a ticking pendulum and smiled full of readiness. "Let's do it."

With that, with one leaping jump, Klaus and Caroline bounded into the boiling mouth of the Underworld. The darkness swallowed them whole—together.

* * *

A nightmare wasn't always as obscure the next morning, Caroline thought, just like the Underworld wasn't as menacing as her imagination fancied it to be.

Steep, rocky caves caste the terrain in murky shadows and dusty ash; the sky brooded in a stormy, thundering red, and the stark expanse of the ridges with their sleek lines and razor edges gave the place a daunting splendor. A whispered echo of delicacy lingered about this ancient land with all of its hidden history, with all of its secrets veiled behind the doom and gloom. It was much like Klaus himself: perception shrouded in legend. Subjective in appearance, atmosphere, and most of all...in acceptance.

 _What was this place?_ Caroline wondered. _Who was this man?_

Before they met, Caroline hadn't a clue of what to expect from Klaus Hades Mikaelson, ruler and taker of the dead. But it wasn't this. It wasn't _him_. With all the ugliness that surrounded his history, she'd predicted a face more…grotesque. More…hideous. But it wasn't; _he_ wasn't.

In fact, objectively speaking…he was freaking hot!

Not that dark-haired-bulging-muscle-brute-force kind of hot, though. Klaus' features were light, and in a way—angelic—with blond waves that swooped across his forehead, lips that pursed with plumpness and words that somersaulted from his tongue in understated intellect, a wiry frame that swayed with an erect grace when he moved, and eyes.

Oh, those eyes! Sea-blue with crashing tumultuousness, his eyes were the kind a girl could drown in while she investigated their depths.

Moody. Attentive. Manipulative. Passionate. All these traits and more flashed back at her through his irises, splashing around in varying degrees. Demanding to be seen. Explored. How deep could she swim in them, she wondered? How deep?

Aesthetically, Klaus was beautiful, not monstrous. There was no denying that. Caroline realized that his menace came not from appearance, but from demeanor. He carried himself in a devious-diabolical-machine kind of way, warning in silent growls for no one to mess with him. No one did. Correction: no one _dared_.

The man—the god of the dead—was a living, breathing, feeling paradox. And Caroline couldn't stop marveling at his fierce attractiveness. She more or less drooled, to be honest. Who could blame her?

* * *

Much to her embarrassment, Klaus seemed to notice her gaping, awestruck stares because he cracked a smile. A smug one.

Caroline looked away abruptly, only a little more than flustered, and fanned herself with her free hand. The other one clutched his bicep in flying support as they continued to decline into the lightless tunnel.

"How much longer?" she asked, wiping beads of sweat from her brow.

The lower they descended, the more humid it became. (Or so she told herself.)

"Soon," he replied. "We're nearly there."

"Will we reach our destination before I age a billion years?" she recovered with her characteristic sass. Finally.

"Patience," he hummed in whisper against her hair.

Caroline shrieked as she suddenly came to a jerking halt. Her entire body lurched forward, plunging her head-first into weightlessness, her hands swatting and swiping through the formless air. Why almost die before screaming bloody murder, she thought? Why wait?

It felt like someone had yanked the lever of a roller coaster and propelled her backwards—sideways—downwards. Falling, falling, falling. Tumbling, tumbling, tumbling. Diving, diving, diving. Her body wasn't hers to control anymore, yet she was still alive and wanted to control it. It felt like someone had shifted her car from _drive_ to _neutral_ and all she could do was fall, tumble, and dive, the steering wheel locking against the desperate turning of her wrists. Stuck in gear. Dragging her like a magnet, no longer free, along some unknown road.

She let terror, instead of oxygen, fill her lungs and escape in elevated decibels.

"Shh," a voice purred nearby, sturdy arms cradling her the moment she quit plummeting through the blackness.

It took a moment before Caroline could open her eyes. To stop her limbs from trembling. To look at her savior.

"I've got you," Klaus whispered. He rocked her soothingly on a rocking chair carved out of stone. "I've got you—" he repeated, a possessive edge taking over his tone "—I promise I won't let you fall. I won't let you go."

Shifting in his lap, Caroline shivered as she met his wild eyes. They glinted with a not-so-hidden threat. What if he never _did_ let her go?

* * *

Herein lies the concise history surrounding Klaus Hades Mikaelson:

 _Dismal in beginning. Dreary in end. And above all, despicable throughout_.

Tales of the god's vindictive tactics passed from human-lips-to-human-lips from a young age, causing many to refer to him as the Fiend Who Shall Not Be Named. Stefan himself, who met Klaus abroad many years ago, referred to the god's unforgiving heart as the blackest of black. The deadest of dead.

Legend said that he sprung from the womb of an adulterous mother named Esther and that the step-father, Mikael, leader of the Titans, abandoned him to the isolated alps of the Underworld for the rest of eternity. Klaus never forgot; and he never forgave the neglect.

One day, after spending many millennia honing his powers in secret, he retaliated. Fracturing the earth above with the fist of rage, he deprived his parents of the one thing they had, but he did not—his half-siblings. Klaus kidnapped all four of them from beneath Mikael's pleading eyes and shredded the life from their bones, dragging them deep into the void of death. Now in possession of their souls, he forbade them to leave. Klaus continued to collect his army of the dead ever since.

No one who entered the Underworld, left. No one who left, escaped.

* * *

"Am I what you anticipated?" he asked. Curiosity lined his jaw and influenced his body language, causing his shoulders to tilt downwards—into her. "Did the face live up to the fame?"

The two of them ambled through the different levels of his world, side-by-side, the sound of volcanic rock crunching beneath their feet. Caroline marveled at the blistering rivers of lava, at the geyser showers in fire-bathing areas, at the detailed rock sculptures clustered around sidewalks, exhibits, and treacherous cliffs. How could a place so callous and dense feel so wondrous at the same time?

"You're arrogant as hell, if that's what you mean," she stated matter-of-factly. "But I'd expect no less from a masquerading devil."

Klaus scratched the scruff on his chin in contemplation.

"Who says I'm pretending, love?"

Caroline's bouncy steps halted abruptly. She bent at the waist to inspect a painting of a wolf, howling amid dripping blood, into the moonless night. The paint clung to the canvas in harried, erratic strokes. Some thick, some thin, the detailed clumps of color fused a muted blur of black, red, and grey around the pitiful animal. A chaotic hurricane of pain swirling around animal and canvas.

There was something expressive about the piece, about this forsaken wolf, that tugged at Caroline's heart. Filling her with sympathy. And sadness.

"I wasn't implying that you were," she said tenderly, clutching Klaus by the wrist.

The action was light and gentle, though a little probing. She turned him to face her. Penetrating his blue-green eyes with a look of frankness, she said,

"You're kind of like this painting. Secure in your strength and independence—" she pointed at the black portions with her fingers "—but aching with loneliness." She traced the thick, red swipes with her pinky. "You hide it behind the armor of brutality because you don't want anyone to see it. Because you don't want anyone to acknowledge or perceive a weakness, _your_ weakness," she explained.

Caroline lifted the corners of her mouth as he stared at her, wide-eyed. Bewildered. His words evaporated into silence.

"But it's there," she clucked, strumming her hands against his shirt and strolling away from him toward a busy street, "and I see it."

* * *

Klaus had never felt as buoyant as he did today, trolling after this blonde human goddess. He had encountered many beautiful women during his tenure as King of the Underworld, but none like her. Not one of them compared.

How could they? Caroline wasn't weak like the other millions of moaning humans whom he encountered every day. Like so many of her ancestors, she, too, had experienced the trials of lost happiness; but unlike them, she didn't avoid the once-good memories. She didn't armor herself in cynicism or cruelty. She refused to let the bad break her into un-mendable pieces, deciding instead to infuse herself with the positivity of a silver lining. Klaus admired the strength in that.

"My parents don't live together anymore," she confided in him later.

They sat on a bench at the corner of a bustling shopping center. They'd stopped in the fashion boutique behind them earlier because Caroline had caught sight of a sleek, red satin dress in the window. Which she then insisted she try on—among a dozen others of various styles. Klaus purchased the lot of them for her while she changed, dubbing them _Caroline's_ _Underworld trifles_.

"I'm sorry," he replied.

Elijah had informed him of Bill and Liz's separation before he met her. Surprisingly, however, Klaus had meant what he'd said. He _was_ sorry—sorry for her pain.

 _Thump._

"Don't be," she said, waving her hand at him in no-big-deal.

 _Thump_. His dead heart thumped again, pattering away in a rhythmic drum beat. _Thump. Thump. Thump._

"Observing their mutual unhappiness for ten years was punishment enough."

Jumping up, Caroline slurped hot apple cider from a straw and walked away from the crowds. Out of the clogged activity. Away from the food, fashion, and chatter.

Seeing a cluster of black horses galloping in the distance, she headed toward the ashen desert where they flocked and galloped, neighing inside a contained corral.

"Besides," Caroline added, shooting him a coy wink, "their collective guilt scored me double the birthday presents."

Klaus laughed good-humoredly at this, shaking his head. He couldn't help himself.

 _What has she done to me?_

There was just something so refreshing about her Miss Be Positive attitude. He started to wonder if perhaps her brightness wasn't contagious? His heart breathed, it strummed, it simpered her name. Rolling those three separate syllables into the fragrant petals of that one, precious word...

 _...Caroline._

His heart alighted with wings with each utterance. Each thought. Fluttering to and fro like a hummingbird in pursuit of the sweetest nectar this world could conjure. It hadn't done such a thing in millennia. Or ever.

* * *

Klaus had forgotten the lovely formidableness of the Underworld, his abode of all abodes, until he saw it again through Caroline's fresh eyes. Every taste of cuisine was explosive. Every sight—artistic or unfamiliar—was gasping, rapturous with unrepressed admiration. Every sound awakened curiosity and sent questions tumbling forth from the tongue in an endless stream of want-to-knows. There weren't fingers enough to touch everything or senses enough to capture, to savor, the daunting majesty around him. Not only of the Underworld, but of Caroline.

He found his heart conquered by her in the same way he had once conquered his home—by fortunate accident.

The girl had no inkling of her profound effect on his soul, how she'd infused it full of tenderness like a glucagon shot and had sent the addictive sugar of love squirting through his veins. All it took was that sunshiny aura and brazen tongue. She clawed into his emotions with iron as strong as steel, but with kindness as soft as silk.

Quick as a snap, Klaus was long gone. A goner. A Mr. Darcy who was _in the middle before [he] knew he had begun_.

 _G-O-N-E-R_ became the new spelling of his name. A new tattoo carved in heart tissue. Permanent and unlikely to be removed.

How pathetic was he?

* * *

Caroline caressed the animal through the links of the fence, her fingers gliding along the silky black mane with soothing strokes, her giggles tinkling the air like wind chimes each time the horse brayed.

"Would you like to ride her?" Klaus asked from her left. "She won't mind."

Rummaging through his pockets, he fished an apple from beneath his cloak and fed it to the horse, patting her on the nose.

"She's got quite the gentle temperament, truth be told."

Denoting his fond smile and tone, Caroline appraised him from beneath a crinkled forehead.

"You like horses?"

Klaus continued to scratch the animal's nose and nodded, evading her gaze.

"They're loyal animals," he responded. "Always."

"Gorgeous, too," Caroline replied with a sigh. She fed the horse some sugar cubes that he had procured from his pocket earlier, and added, "What's her name?"

"Black Beauty," he replied as he scaled the fence.

Plopping down next to the horse, Klaus inspected its hooves before standing to help Caroline over.

Her boot, the heel of which became caught on the highest rung, caused her to lose balance on her way over the fence. She toppled into Klaus' waiting arms. (A lucky coincidence he wouldn't disparage for anything.) Falling with shaky uncertainty, she clutched at his neck, clinging to him for support and steadiness—which he was more than happy to provide.

"I've got you, love," he said reassuringly, "I won't let go; no need to worry."

Caroline stiffened in his arms as he said this and quickly regained her feet, straightening her white leather jacket with a compulsive jerk.

"You named her Black Beauty?" she sneered. She backed away, seemingly keen on maintaining her distance now. "Like the book? Seriously?"

The few feet of space that separated them, the short distance that existed between their bodies, felt heavy and infinite. Interminable. She was his magnet, and Klaus drew nearer again. Reaching out. He just couldn't help himself, could he?

His fingers throbbed with want of contact. Proximity. Exclusivity. He felt the fire of longing threatening to suffocate him in smoke. Couldn't Caroline see that he wanted her near him? Next to him? Tethered to the throne by his side? Always and forever?

"No," he replied, quirking a playful smile, "like the horse _in_ the book."

Caroline rolled her eyes at his remark and moved further away. Behind the animal. Boot footprints lined the ashy sand as she walked down the length of the horse's body, rubbing her hand through its mane, across its back, down its lean, muscular legs. Again, she took the time to admire the intricate splendor of what stood before her. Marking it with eyes, hands, and memory.

Because of this, once again, Klaus found himself awestruck. Mesmerized. What kind of sorcery made him liable to such palpitations from an innocent woman, anyway? It seemed unfair somehow. And damn bloody cruel, too, since she seemed wholly unaffected.

"I'm kind of jealous," Caroline admitted with a hollow laugh. She patted Black Beauty's rump affectionately. "I miss having a horse."

"I had to give mine away—" she sighed and tapped her finger on her chin, a faraway look glazing over her eyes as her mind traveled through the past "—you know, after my parents split and everything," she explained.

"That doesn't seem fair. Sacrificing a beloved horse for a failed marriage you never sanctioned?" Klaus replied. "That's not an amicable trade, is it? Your parents could have at least provided you with that one, last parting gift, surely."

Caroline shrugged in oh-well measure.

"That's life, Klaus. We don't always get what we want," she said. "Not even if we deserve it."

He meditated on that for a moment.

"I suppose."

Sweeping her arm out to hug the horse, Caroline left a kiss against her mane before bounding back over to him all jubilance and enthusiasm. The girl flitted in-and-out of seriousness as easily as a spring jacket. It was infuriating (adorable)!

"Where to next, tour guide?" she beamed, nudging Klaus with her elbow. "What Underworld attractions still await us?"

Klaus considered her for a moment. Though perkiness characterized her tone, sorrow-a pervasive nostalgia for human trifles-flickered in her eyes, if only for a moment. He read it clear as day: Caroline missed home. Longed for it, even.

"I think we've done enough touring for today," he heard himself say.

Flashing to a shed a few paces away, Klaus returned in a moment carrying a bunch of supplies bundled in a storage container. Belts, bridles, and buckles flew every which way. Unfastening the last buckle, pulling tight, he untangled a pair black leather reins that hung around stirrups and turned to face a confused Caroline.

"Why don't you take Black Beauty?" he suggested. "Ride her home tonight?"

Stepping forward, he drooped the riding supplies over his shoulder and approached her.

"You keep her—she's yours," Klaus insisted hoarsely, squeezing the reins into her open palms. "I want you to have her."

"That way—" her blue eyes gaped at him unblinkingly, almost as they were trying to reconcile something deep inside of him "—that way, I'll know she's in good hands—" he cleared his throat "—that she'll be in the care of someone who values her strengths and forgives her weaknesses," he said, "someone other than me."

"She needs more than I can provide here," Klaus continued, waving distractedly at their surroundings, at his Underworld home, "and she can bring you back—she can bring you back if you'd ever want to visit here again, or to—"

Klaus looked away, not brave enough to maintain eye contact. To witness her reaction. He stammered as he fought to get the last few words out,

"—or to see me," he finished. "Whenever you want."

Klaus groaned inwardly as he concluded his speech.

Listen to him! Blithering on and on like some helpless moron who doesn't know when to shut up! Worse, he'd just handed Caroline, the one human soul he wants _most_ in this universe, the reins of escape. He just set them in her hands. Freely!

Was he a fucking chump or what? In general? No. For her? Absolutely. Undeniably. COMPLETELY.

 _What has she done to me?_ Klaus wondered. _What has she bloody done?_

* * *

After many minutes of painful, suspenseful silence, Caroline responded. And when she did, her voice sounded hollow and thick with something—tears.

"You—you want to give me a horse? _Your_ horse?" she asked, scratching her head in confusion.

Klaus trained his gaze on his shoes, clunking his toes together and apart. Together and apart.

"Yes."

"You're giving me Black Beauty?" she asked again, her voice tremulous and skeptical.

He nodded.

"Why?"

Klaus somehow mustered the courage to lift his head from the ground and look at her face. Into her eyes.

Caroline peered back at him—half confusion, half curiosity, 100% surprise. A tornado of emotion contorted her features. Forehead crinkled, she nibbled her bottom lip between her two front teeth, gnawing away at her questions, at her doubts, like a chipmunk munching on a twig. Mulling over the possibilities in methodical speed. She disappeared deep into concentration. Analysis.

He swore he perceived a check-mark flash in her eyes each time she eliminated a potential reason, discarding it as improbable.

"I don't—I don't think I understand why you would want—"

"—You said you missed have one," Klaus interrupted. "Now you no longer will."

As he shrugged, placing his hands into his pockets, Caroline's face slowly beamed into disbelief that was fully blonde and smiley and bright.

"I own plenty of horses, Caroline. Hundreds, in fact, so you'd be doing me a favor by departing with just one. What do you say?" Klaus prodded.

After securing the saddle on the horse's back, he chanced a look over his shoulder, Caroline still dumbstruck, and said,

"Would you allow me to make this small gift to you?"

At this, Caroline seemed to resurrect from stone-like shock back into liquid delight. An expression so beautiful and radiant overtook her features at that precise moment, that had Klaus possessed a human heart that still beat; it would have coded at the sight of her. And if her happy demeanor wasn't enough to resuscitate his dead, blackest of black heart back into adoration mode, this was: she kissed him!

"Thank you. Truly," she said as her arms wrapped around his neck. "I am without better words at the moment—just, thank you. I wasn't anticipating this," she added in a choked laugh, "or you for that matter."

Pulling back, swiping at a few stray tears, a smile enshrining her mouth in the gold of unexpected pleasure, Caroline tilted his chin down and leaned in—placing a sweet, kiss of genuine gratitude on his left cheek.

(A kiss—on the cheek or lips—was still a kiss in Klaus' estimation. It counted.)

After embracing him one last time, she climbed onto Black Beauty's back and flicked the spurs into the horse's side, levitating them both off the ground and into the air with a flapping _whoosh_ , _whoosh_. Wings, black and feathery, stirred warm wind against the ground, rustling the ashen sand around his feet. Burying his shoes in much the same way he buried the emotion in his throat—quickly.

With one last parting wave, with one last glowing smile, woman and horse galloped away into the rumbling red sky. But Caroline's eyes? They remained trained over her shoulder on Klaus, the man she was leaving behind.

"I promise I won't forget your kindness." Her voice echoed from the distant darkness. "But I'll do my best not to spoil your despicable reputation _too_ much," she laughed, her amusement ringing in the resounding caves, "if I can help it."

"You don't strike me as the type who keeps secrets all that well," Klaus bellowed after her.

"I guess you'll just have to trust me, then, won't you?" she countered.

And so, with that, Caroline's voice lightened the dead air no more. Klaus let her go. He set her free from the Underworld—not only with his favorite horse, but with his stolen heart.

After all, what good would it do to claim her dead soul by force if he could win her living one by choice? No good at all.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE : This transpired from a drabble prompt on Tumblr and quickly snowballed into a beast of Hades/Persephone-inspired mythology. I'm thinking of developing it into a three-to-five shot? Yes? No? ****Anyway, I hope you liked it. Thanks for reading! :)**

 **P.S. Reviews would be lovely!**

 **xx Ashlee Bree xx**


	2. Where Demons Hide

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : Hello lovely readers! I know it's been a while, but numerous writing projects and crashing servers bogged me down a little. Anyway, thank you all so much for your encouragement and feedback last chapter. It's made writing this story so much more enjoyable. _*blows kisses of gratitude*_**

 **As Klaus would say, have at it. :)**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

 _ **I wanna hide the truth;**_

 _ **I wanna shelter you.**_

 _ **But with the beast inside,**_

 _ **there's nowhere we can hide.**_

— _Imagine Dragons_

* * *

Much like the painting before him, Klaus considered himself to be a lone wolf who bled into the empty, moonless night—but with rage, not loneliness. He'd returned to examine it after Caroline had disappeared into the Underworld sky atop his favorite black steed. While she returned home to earthly nature, to a life full of light, laughter, and yellow daises; he remained behind, underground, with death and roses tainted black by hidden demons.

When he'd first professed to her his passion for art and culture during their tour of his kingdom, Klaus had anticipated Caroline to react with the same disinterestedness and disbelief common among her human counterparts. Others had difficultly reconciling his refined tastes with his savage behavior. They couldn't discern the dualities he embodied, and instead, condemned him as a monster that preferred monstrous things.

He became faceless, formless. Freed from complexity. A one-dimensional cliche for people to fear and to loathe, an idea to demonize with millennia of "factual" mythology. He became nobody. Nothing. A ghost imprisoned within the shadows.

But not to Caroline. She wasn't the type to judge harshly without provocation. No, she needed justification. Reasons. And she'd scratch away the soot with her fingernails until she found them. Every last one.

That gorgeous light that surrounded her—eyes, heart, and spirit—encouraged her to learn, to understand, to take a chance familiarizing herself with unknown things, people, and places. Innate patience allowed her to set aside time for him, for a god whose reputation was far beyond deplorable. Caroline surprised him. Not only did she do so with the fascinated frankness behind her _show me_ , but with the openness of her mind…

...and her tongue.

Caroline wasn't afraid to speak her mind. Honestly. Openly. She wasn't shy about disagreeing or full-on opposing his opinions. Knowing what she thought, speaking what she felt—that was her _my way, or the highway_. No exceptions.

Oddly enough, Caroline's unreserved liberality intrigued Klaus more than it offended him. While others who upbraided him with pointed, unapologetic sass often found themselves with a snapped neck; with Caroline, her words often rendered him into a state of silent contemplation. Not simply in the moment of their delivery, either—but long after their absence.

* * *

This is how Klaus found himself standing beneath a black and red tent at the Underworld Art Festival in the middle of the night. The exhibit had closed hours ago, but Caroline's words haunted him, prompting acute restlessness of mind. Since it refused to quiet with sleep, he had returned to the city square, now deserted, to confront them. And his swirling thoughts.

Standing before the display area, he clutched the howling wolf painting— _his_ painting—between his fingers. He studied it with probing intensity and concentration.

Klaus had submitted it for consideration at the exhibit a month ago—anonymously, of course—dead or alive, people never accepted things from the King of Darkness—but he had never predicted that it would be selected. Not only that, but he had never expected anyone to take the time to analyze the symbolism behind each stroke of color with such intricacy.

Who would dare to waste such valuable time studying something _he_ created? Why would anyone acknowledge _his_ artistry? What would make anyone _care_? No one ever had; no one ever did.

Once again, Caroline had surprised him...

xxx

As they had circled the exhibit for the hundredth time, gravity had seemed to tug them toward his piece again and again. Lost in conversation, and in each other, they'd viewed and discussed many other types of artwork—murals, sculptures, pottery, portraits—as they'd meandered through the festival. But no matter how far Klaus had veered them away, Caroline had continued steering back to the same place. In front of that damn, howling wolf.

Distracted, the blonde had frozen suddenly twenty feet in front of the canvas. She'd refused to come away this time, shaking her head at his suggestion that they _feast on some warm beignets_ at a quaint French café down the road. The austerity of the palette had seemed to capture her full attention.

"Let's take a closer look at this?"

Caroline had posed this question more like a statement. Seconds earlier, she'd been animated with laughter and wit. Now, in this moment, she'd traded smiles for solemnity. Why the change?

"Again, sweetheart?" Klaus had replied.

"Do you mind?" she'd asked, finally turning to consider him.

Klaus repressed a groan.

Yes, he _did_ mind. In fact, a silent, secret part of him growled in protest. But to be honest, he wasn't sure why? It's not like he'd detected anything but innocence and intrigue behind her blinking eyes. And though it made little sense, that's what made him most nervous about indulging her...

"Come now," she'd wiggled her fingers at him "you're not afraid of the big, bad wolf, are you?" she'd teased.

A warm smile had lifted Caroline's lips as she had offered him her hand willingly, enticing him to move in closer. Next to her.

Dimpling at her, Klaus had placed his hand in hers. He had intertwined their fingers, giving them a light, playful squeeze. "Not at all, love. Not at all," he'd said.

"Good." Caroline had seemed content as they'd moved along together, hand-in-hand, stopping only to toss a coy wink at him over her shoulder. "Neither am I."

* * *

Raking over her effervescence as they approached his artwork, over their still-clasped hands, a distant, possessive echo had reverberated one word, and one word alone, within Klaus' soul:

 _MINE_.

Caroline was his. He _wanted_ her to be his, for that to be true. Fact. The truth was that he coveted her heart already; treasuring it, revering it with every rhythmic pump that it ticked into his open, grasping palm, how it reminded him of the human goddess who kissed flowers into bloom with each breath she took of life. Showering the world with precipitation that tasted of candy. Sweetness.

He didn't want to let her heart go. Selfish, he didn't know how. He wanted it; and he wanted her.

It was here that Klaus branded himself with a vow. One that he'd sacrifice the power of death to fulfill. Somehow, and in some way, he would capture them both—woman and heart. No matter what.

 _However long it takes_ , he had repeated mindfully, _h_ _owever long it takes_.

The promise of eternity had been good for something at long last, it seemed, for it had granted Klaus patience. The patience to wait. Because for Caroline Forbes, he would. He can. And he will.

She was his exception...his only exception.

* * *

"It's a mistake not to be afraid, Caroline," Klaus had remarked. They'd stood before his painting—she, engrossed and rocking side-to-side; he, agitated, his mind muddled with fear, feelings, and frustration. "You of all people _should_ be afraid, don't you think?"

"Sorry to disappoint you," she'd replied tartly, "but no."

Of course not.

"You should be, love. You should be," he'd purred against her ear, "for art exposes all _kinds_ of hidden demons within us. No one is safe; no one is free. The bark, the bite of darkness..." Klaus' words, though delivered casually, had become gruffer in tone. Borderline warning. "It tears into us with sharp teeth like that wolf's there," he'd said, flicking his thumb at the canvas, "and never finds release again."

"The purest beauty in existence," he'd continued, "becomes stuck behind bars ever-expanding, trapped alone forever."

"Except for when it spills forth in blood, you mean?"

Klaus had pulled back, perplexed. What had Caroline meant?

"There's beauty to be salvaged from pain, too," she'd explained before he could answer. Turning to look at him, her expression was soft. Insistent. Her words, powerful. "All of that red, all of that dripping, staining blood—it comes from feeling."

"Haven't you heard that a wounded heart still beats, Klaus? That although its scars often feel jagged and sore, it still heals?"

All he could do was gape.

"Well?" she'd prodded, eyebrows perked. "Haven't you?"

"Yes," he'd rasped.

Swooshing side bangs out of her eyes as the sultry wind blew, Caroline had nodded as if satisfied at his answer. Shrugging, she'd added, "And that's why I have no need to be afraid."

To Klaus, it had seemed like she never was. It was like she took the world and all the people in it by the heart, not just the balls.

"I _like_ to unravel the truth," she'd continued. "In things." She'd gestured at the artwork surrounding them."In people." She'd swooped her hands outwards at the bustling crowd "In you," she's smiled, patting Klaus on the arm. "But mostly," she'd paused, releasing a heady sigh, "I like to uncover the truth in myself."

Turning, she'd freed her hand from Klaus' grip and had inclined her head to the left to meet his probing gaze. "If I can be honest with myself and my feelings at least most of the time, what else do I need to fear in this life? I mean," she'd laughed, "what's worse than lying to yourself?"

 _Good question_ , Klaus had thought to himself. _Good bloody question._

* * *

Despite not knowing the painting was, in fact, _his_ , Caroline still drew startling connections between man and art. Connections, truth be told, that had caused him to marvel at her remarkable astuteness. Young though she was, Klaus couldn't help but wonder if she could perceive something about him? Something of which he was insensible?

 _What does she see?_

Gesturing at the black in the wolf's fur, Caroline had remarked, "There's an inflexible rigidness to the strokes here—" She had traced the thin lines with her pinky. "—a precision that suggests a need to maintain control no matter what."

Bottom lip poised between her teeth, forehead crinkled, she had continued, "The wolf's coat is combed and trimmed with exactness, not one hair out of place." Caroline had tilted her head to look at him, blue orbs shining with interest and inquiry. "It's almost as if he fears inadequacy, don't you think?"

Rhetorical perhaps, but Klaus had been caught off guard by this comment.

"What makes you think that?" he had gulped uncomfortably.

"Oh come on!" she had giggled, crossing her arms. "Anything, fur or otherwise, that perfectly manicured is the perfect shield!"

Klaus had scratched his head. He'd peered at her quizzically and said, "A shield for what?" He'd pointed at the canvas, indicating the animal's solitary presence. "There is no threat here. There is nothing and no one to antagonize him. I don't quite understand what you—"

"—It's a defense mechanism, of course!" she'd interrupted, rolling her eyes as if the answer were obvious. "Outwardly, the wolf has the power to demonstrate the strength and fearlessness he lacks on the _inside_. His perfect fur, his erect, crouching stance, his raised head—they're all features that he can manipulate. They're all elements he can _control_."

"Don't you see?" she'd continued, moving closer to the artwork. "He wants the world to see, and to hear, the defiance in his howling." Caroline had pointed to the detailed black portions again. "He wants everyone to _believe_ that he doesn't need anyone—that he _prefers_ the isolation of his mountainous rock."

"Perhaps he does?" Klaus had replied a little harshly. Rubbing a hand across his chin, he'd stepped closer and captured her eyes with a fierce glance. "Perhaps his solitude is not merely a choice, but a _necessity_? Perhaps the wolf _enjoys_ the power he derives from his independence?"

Somehow, at this point in the conversation, the king of the Underworld had begun to feel uncomfortable. Not in a bad way necessarily—in fact, tingles of exhilaration shot through him—but in a way that had made him feel exposed. Like private pieces of himself were being assessed by this curious blonde. He'd felt out of his element. Unzipped from his rugged skin.

 _Vulnerable_.

Klaus liked it; Klaus hated it. Were they merely discussing artistic representation right now? Symbolism? Or was there something more personal and discerning behind Caroline's penetrating analysis?

"I'm not saying he doesn't," she'd replied with a smile.

Twirling a curl around her finger, she'd turned her attention back to the painting to examine it more thoroughly, searching for something. Patient deliberation had characterized her features as her fingers tapped softly against her lips, her hand ghosting back and forth over a thick, jagged gash across the animal's underbelly, her eyes following the little droplets of red that splashed against the harsh, textured ground near its paws in _plop-plop, plop-plop._ A puddle of trickling blood.

For some minutes, she'd remained silent. Then, without warning, she'd encircled Klaus' wrist delicately with her right hand and tugged him nearer. To see.

"I've decided that there's no question that the wolf takes pride in self-reliance," she'd spoken at last, "or in his ability to flourish alone, either."

Surprise had lifted his eyebrows,"So, you agree with me?"

Caroline had fixed him with a side-glance. Shaken her head.

"Not exactly..." she'd continued with a latent smirk. "The wolf _does_ shield himself in intimidating blackness. But his efforts, though meticulous—" Her lips parted and spoke with warm openness. "—are nothing more than a well-enforced distraction."

Inexplicable fear had suddenly made Klaus feel small. Claustrophobic. "From what?" he'd murmured.

Tossing blonde tendrils over her shoulder, she'd pulled back to peer at him from beneath pinched eyebrows and said frankly, "His loneliness."

She pointed at the coarse swipes of red paint on the canvas, compassion and sympathy littering her tone, tears flooding the corners of her eyes, "It's Scar's wall of defense, you see," she's explained, "so that no one will notice that he's bleeding, angry and red...with loneliness."

Klaus had bit the side of his cheek in order to repress a chuckle. "Scar, eh?"

"He reminded me of Scar in _the Lion King_ , okay?"

As Caroline had blushed and shifted away, Klaus' lips had twitched with amusement.

"The only difference is that this wolf wears his _all-by-myself_ scars in heart rather than in persona. It makes them more difficult to see."

Klaus had flicked his eyes to hers. Hanging on her every movement, her every touch, her every syllable.

"Difficult," she'd clucked, pausing to meet his steady gaze, "but not impossible."

Klaus had felt bewitched by her in this moment. Absolutely entranced. It seemed unlikely—impossible for any person to—is that what she saw? Did she truly see a frightened, lonely boy inside?

 _What insightful power did this young woman possess?_

A frown had suddenly sprung across Caroline's lips. Looping her hand around his bicep, she'd leaned against his shoulder and let out a long, dejected sigh. (The intimate contact had left Klaus breathless, his skin blazing with fervor at her touch.) Sorrow had clouded her expression as she'd angled her head and rested her chin on his shoulder, blue eyes glistening, to speak to him in soft, sympathetic tones.

"It's sad," she'd sighed. "It would be awful to be so blind, don't you think?"

Almost as if the oblivion had afflicted her personally (which Klaus doubted), Caroline had shuddered and drawn closer against him. She had rubbed her hand soothingly across his forearm and had snuggled into his chest. Fitting perfectly into the nook of his neck.

Was the physical consolation for her…or for him?

"Truly awful," he'd replied without irony, draping an arm around her waist.

With her touch so warm and reassuring, he'd felt faith swell in his chest for the first time and Klaus couldn't help but wonder: _Could a pure heart be claimed by a tainted one?_

Had Caroline done the impossible? Had she trickled sunlight into the god's impenetrable fortress of darkness? Had she _actually_ unveiled a sliver of hope to the hopeless Klaus Mikaelson?

"Isn't honesty better than deceit?"

Their eyes had met as Caroline had posed this. Hers were gentle and candid with their bubbling philosophy; Klaus' were broody and dazed with a not-so-hidden torment. Rhetorical or not, that question had his mind whirring and buzzing. How could one possibly begin to answer something that subjective? _Was_ there a correct way?

"The cure for a loneliness scar that deep isn't in enacting rage or revenge," she'd said half to herself, still analyzing, "but in noticing and accepting the love that's available to you. If you don't, then you truly _will_ bleed out with longing forever." Smiling, her warm breath had prickled his face. "It always upsets me when people don't see what's making them bleed, you know? Or worse, when they ignore the tools before them to stop it. To _heal_."

Klaus had felt uneasy as Caroline had related this last bit. Affronted. Who did this girl think she was spouting insight and opinions like some damn oracle? What kind of wisdom had the world infused in her during her short, eighteen years of life, anyway?

She was a blip. A tiny speck of dust on the universe's eyelash. Something blinked, flicked, or wiped away in seconds. One swipe…and _poof_! She was gone. Erased. Deleted from the catalogues of history...of _life._ In less than a second, she could disappear from existence. How unimportant was she?

 _What could she possibly know?_

Caroline had seen only a shallow sliver of life—mostly all rainbows and unicorns, full of the kind of cheerful optimism that most people scoffed at with disgust. Klaus, on the other hand, had witnessed millennia full of death, devastation, and despair; he'd observed time and again how the self-proclaimed _most loyal_ usually turned out to be the _most corrupt_. Always prepared for the worst, he'd lurked behind back-up plans and procedures that some called damn-well paranoid. He'd watched. He'd waited for the perfect moment to pounce, to snatch away life from the ungrateful, his eyes and ears always open. Wide, _wide_ open.

Nothing escaped Klaus' notice. Not one damn thing. And yet, here, this daring girl had the nerve to accuse _him_ , the treacherous, calculating god of the Underworld, of oblivion? The _blasphemy_.

Again—

— _what did Caroline know?_

Swept up in a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, Klaus had chanced a look at her.

Empathy had colored Caroline's pale cheeks, had filled her teary eyes, had quivered her sweet voice. The emotions of humanity covered her like skin, breathing through her in an intoxicating essence of light he'd long since forgotten. She cared. She truly _cared_ —not just about life itself, but about individual things. People. She'd comforted them and listened to them and eliminated their personal sufferings, their deepest sorrows, in any way that she'd could. Caroline didn't just exude magnificence...she embodied it.

It's no wonder the girl rendered him speechless! How long had it been since someone last cared enough to console _him_? How long had it been since he had last let someone _try_? In that moment, watching her, Klaus had recognized the purifying beauty in the woman who clung to his arm.

Caroline was a divine bloody treasure—one too long ignored; one too long unappreciated. Maybe Caroline knew nothing of the universe, but she saw _everything_. Potential, at least in her eyes, existed within everyone. No exceptions, no exclusions. Adorning herself in the golden armor of hope, she allowed it to guide her down the path of intuition. She saw; she sensed; she _believed_.

How could he ignore the obstinate sunshine she beamed into his frozen heart now? How?

Patting her hand gently, craving her touch with greed, Klaus had maneuvered them both away toward some water color landscapes across the square. Away from further examination. Away from further exposure. They could come back to this painting later…or never.

"I wonder why it takes us so long to acknowledge the answers before us? Especially when they're usually right in front of our faces," Caroline had remarked half in reverie.

"Perhaps they're easier to ignore, love," Klaus had mumbled in reply. "Perhaps they're easier to ignore."

* * *

With Caroline now gone, freed from the Underworld by his own hand and on the back of his own horse, Klaus stood paralyzed in the city square with his heart crippling into the vein he kept closing.

Longing. Loneliness. They pounded hard and persistent against his rib cage. Within his fluttering chest. They demanded not only to be acknowledged, but to be felt. And for the first time in the thousand years that he'd ruled his beloved kingdom, he bled out. Angry, red, and alone. All alone.

Yes, Klaus finally learned to acknowledge the beauty of his agony, letting it blaze through him in harsh, lovely streaks of sunshine. Recovering his feet, but not his lonely heart, he surrendered to the fulfilling hollowness and strolled homeward—toward death—through the cooling morning sunrise.

* * *

 _ **Your eyes, they shine so bright**_

 _ **I wanna save that light**_

 _ **I can't escape this now,**_

 _ **unless you show me how…**_

 _ **Don't get too close;**_

 _ **it's dark inside—**_

 _ **it's where my demons hide.**_

* * *

 **ADDITIONAL NOTE : I'd originally crafted this chapter to include a few more scenes, but I'm saving them for chapter 3. Klaus demanded further Caroline-induced reflection, and who am I to refuse the king of the Underworld? Don't fret, though, other TVD characters will crop up at the beginning of the next chapter. ****Stay tuned and thanks for reading!**

 **P.S. Reviews are always wonderful. ;)**


	3. Where Hope Perches

" _ **When it was dark, you always carried the sun in your hand for me."—**_ **Sean O'Casey**

* * *

"What were you _thinking_?" Liz exclaimed.

Black Beauty's hooves halted inches away from a cluster of buttercups in the backyard as Caroline pulled hard on the reins, her feet dangling from black stirrups. Looking down, she perceived her mom with her brow furrowed, barreling down the cobblestone pathway and onto the lawn in front of Damon. Her expression firm and lips pursed, jaw set, Liz crossed her arms over her chest…and waited.

 _Perfect._ Caroline groaned inwardly. _Home for five seconds and the Interrogation Squad descends._

Navigating the horse to the leafy shade provided by a nearby apple tree, she beamed—bubbly and unaffected—down at them.

"Hi, mommy," Caroline simpered. "You're home early tonight. Did you finally settle that nasty nymph business in the woodlands?" she asked.

Liz stalked closely behind her daughter. "Don't you dare ' _hi mommy_ ' me, young lady!" she exclaimed. "Do you have any idea how upset I've been? How many hours I've spent pacing and panicking? Wondering— _worrying_ if I'd ever get the chance to see you again, my only daughter? _Do you_?" she cried, half-hysterical.

Caroline rolled her eyes. "Would you relax? I'm _fine_."

"Besides..." She removed her leg from one of the stirrups, throwing it over the horse's back to sit squarely in the saddle. "If you ever bothered to check your voicemail," she said, "you'd know that I left you a lengthy message detailing my whereabouts."

Sure, she felt bad for upsetting her mother (things had been tense between them lately thanks to her father's impromptu interferences), but wasn't this all a bit dramatic? She was home. She was safe. What more did she want?

"Why are you so upset? Why are you acting like I've somehow been irresponsible and reckless today?" she'd asked, a caustic sound escaping her throat as she glared at the unwelcome sight of Damon Salvatore. "Because I haven't been."

Damon, watchful yet silent, marched closely behind Liz, his amusement ticking in each bouncy stride he took.

"Why?" Liz countered, appalled. "You're asking me _why_ I'm upset?" Stepping forward, she kicked a stray apple out of her path and approached her daughter in all her coiled worry. "I'm upset—I'm _outraged_ because you went to the Underworld, Caroline! _Alone_."

"So what if I did?" Caroline responded, jutting her hip out on the saddle. "What does it matter to you?

Positioning himself between mother and daughter, his index finger wagging in the air, the elder Salvatore could no longer resist the temptation to speak. "To be fair, Liz," Damon interceded, those crystal eyes of his glinting, "she wasn't _entirely_ alone."

Caroline scoffed at his suggestiveness. _Dick._

What in the hell was he doing here, anyway? Didn't he have anyone else to scandalize? The prick always managed to shove his nose—among other things—where it didn't belong.

"She _did_ have some pretty interesting, dangerous company…"

 _Dick, dick, DICK._

Liz's you're-so-not-helping glare cut Damon's comment short. After clearing his throat, he compressed his lips and plucked an apple free from a low-hanging branch, crunching into it with a hearty bite. "Right," he clucked, repressing a grin as he chewed. "Shutting up now."

Refocusing her attention on her daughter, Liz's voice became stern.

"Oh, it matters young lady," she huffed. "First, under no circumstances do you go gallivanting to unfamiliar worlds without first informing you parents...in _person_. Second—" Caroline attempted to interrupt, but her mother silenced her with a single look. "—you sure as hell don't go anywhere—absolutely ANYWHERE—with Klaus Mikaelson."

"You do not leave with the god of the dead. You never do. _Never_ ," she stressed, attempting to freeze her daughter into submission with the command of her words. "Do you understand me?"

Caroline remained stoic.

"He—" Liz stammered amid her lecture, rubbing a hand across the crinkles in her forehead, stress and anxiety apparent. "—he collects _souls_ , Caroline."

Licking her lips, she stepped closer and grabbed her daughter by the hands with a crushing squeeze, the words she seemed desperate to relate trembling with fire and ice on the edge of her lips.

"Klaus robs souls of sunshine long before it's their time to say goodnight, forever damning them to the hollowness of death's cold, dark nights. Do you understand what that means, daughter? Do you understand the severity of his actions?"

Caroline swallowed hard, but remained silent. Eyes dilated.

"He never lets them go. He _never_ lets them go," she repeated a second time.

Liz's eyes brimmed with tears and threatened to spill over, down her cheeks, as she pressed hard into Caroline's hands. Turning her fingertips white.

"What if he had stolen your soul?" she'd asked, eyelashes still blinking back emotion. "What if he had never set _you_ free? I—I would never forgive myself if something had happened to you. You are all I have, all that I love most in this world."

Emotion, hot and thick, caught in Caroline's throat as Liz spoke. She loved her mom—she loved her mom more than anything but...she wasn't sorry. She didn't feel guilty for going to the Underworld, for traveling into the darkness with Klaus.

Caroline had journeyed to a boiling, wondrous world with a menacing and monstrous god; but contrary to expectation, he had turned out to be playful, patient, and personal as well as fierce. He was possessively rugged on the surface, perhaps, but raw and tender on the inside. Almost...warm.

A god Klaus may be, but Caroline concluded that without a heart he was not. No—a fractured one thumped violently with rage and revenge in his chest, but it thumped nevertheless. Humming with the potential to flower into more human sensibilities, it lived.

But how could Caroline explain this? How could she begin to describe how the Underworld, and Klaus, tugged at her with unexplainable hope and gravity? Who would listen? Who would believe her?

"Why didn't you tell anyone where you went? How come no one knew?" Liz asked.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Caroline fidgeted on the saddle. She never lied when her mom prodded for honesty; but right now, in this moment...she wished she could prevent the impending pain her response would bring. Unable to hesitate any longer, however, she exhaled slowly and began, "I did. Dad knew all about it. In fact—"

Liz reacted instantaneously: despair seeming to crumple her from the inside-out like a shriveled brown paper bag. The allusion to Bill, her ex-husband who was now in love with a man (a forever tenuous subject) drained the color from her face.

"In fact, the Underworld thing was kind of his idea..." Caroline explained, rubbing her hands together as a nervous laugh escaped her throat. "He thought—he thought I could use a new adventure and well," she shrugged, shivering at her mom's emotionless expression, "I agreed."

 _God_ , _listen to her_!

Helpless, regretful babbling—that's what this was. Only here was the thing: Caroline wasn't sorry…at least not entirely. Did she feel bad for upsetting her mom? Yes, of course. Did she feel guilty for causing her to think that only Bill's permission mattered? Always. Did she regret her trip to the Underworld with the King of Darkness himself? Surprisingly…no. Not in the slightest.

It's not that Caroline didn't value her mother's advice and insight, because she did; but Liz's work as the town's resident Humanity Guardian kept her both busy with the misdeeds of the gods and prejudiced against them. Her hometown's affinity for god-induced magic problems had made her mom more accepting of the gods' existence, but no less wary. Suspicion limited Liz's circle of trust by quantity, meaning that it only included Caroline and her band of Mystic Olympus friends.

That, coupled with her overprotectiveness, prevented her mom from understanding that her only daughter yearned for more than an ordinary life. Somewhere, deep within her bones and splashing within her golden mortal blood, Caroline hummed with the knowledge that something grander awaited her, something profound and profuse in its unimaginable wonder loomed in the periphery—she just didn't know what it was. Or when it would occur. Or how.

"I don't understand." Words mangled wit strain, Liz retreated backwards into the fading light of a spring sunset, her hand clutched against the base of her throat. Horror etched into the lines around her mouth in rosy shadows. "I just. I don't understand what you were _thinking_."

This was the second time Liz had repeated those ghastly four words: _what were you thinking_. Disappointment rolled from her tongue, and something else, too...accusation.

Detecting Liz's burgeoning hysteria, Damon stepped in with practiced restraint, "Easy there, Guardian," he said.

Patting her on the back reassuringly, he edged them both closer to the horse, that trademark smirk dancing on his lips as he peered at Caroline. "Let's at least give her the chance to offer an excuse." He paused, eyes twinkling. "Or to invent a good lie."

Almost as if she perceived the insult, Black Beauty lurched forward and nayed, huffing in protest. She scratched the grass to mud with her hooves in a move to charge. Caroline narrowed her eyes at Damon in warning. _Try me_.

"Unlike some people," she snapped, " _I_ don't lie."

"Is that so?" Damon clucked.

Calming the horse with a reassuring pat, Caroline threw her leg back over the saddle and spurred Black Beauty into a trot in an attempt to dawdle away from her questioners. But Damon, always quick when necessary, restricted her lengthy escape by retrieving the dangling reins from the ground and slowing her down, leaving Liz to lag behind.

"In that case, are you and the heartless devil sitting in a tree?" Damon taunted in a low voice, handing her one rein while clutching the other firmly in his grip. " _K-I-S-S-I-N-G_?"

Looking down at his cackling face, a man entertained by his own immature humor, Caroline resisted the urge to whip him raw with the sole leather rein in her possession. She loathed him. She loathed him with a hatred as fierce as the scorching flames in the Underworld. And she desired nothing better than to punish him with bleeding blow after bleeding blow, leaving the lashes of hell—fresh, sore, and peeling—across his back and against his chest. Around his heart. But not for this. Not for today.

* * *

Caroline despised her shallow sixteen-year-old self.

Mystic Olympus brothers, Stefan and Damon Salvatore, blessed and brandished with the thunderous powers of the gods, had arrived in the Falls at the start of Caroline's junior year of high school. They were tasked with the mission to find, protect, and teach their future Goddess of the Clouds the basic Olympus ways. Was Caroline wrong for hoping that one of the brothers would choose her? That she could be valued and esteemed and respected as the chosen mortal of the skies? Perhaps not. But if there was any truth in the notion that all teenagers made _huge_ mistakes, hers was this: Damon Salvatore.

With Stefan snapped up by _epic_ love straight away, she worked hard to snag the attention of his older, darker, more mysterious brother before anyone else could. Before any one of her friends. Elena Gilbert, especially, one of Caroline's good friends since childhood, always seemed to enchant men—all men—with some uncanny goddess-of-love spell that sent them kneeling at her feet like drooling, obedient puppies at the moment of introduction.

And it wasn't fair!

Not that it was a competition or anything (it _was_ ), but Caroline wanted to be Damon's choice. All she'd ever wanted was to be _somebody's_ first choice. Just one man's number one. Just for once, you know? Was that too much to ask?

And Caroline got her wish all right…Damon chose her. But it wasn't because he wanted her or because he loved her, but because he was lonely, rejected, and depressed. And because she was _there_.

They didn't date for long.

Damon fell for Elena ( _surprise, surprise_ ) and Caroline soon realized that she'd mistaken arrogance for attractiveness. He'd cheated, of course; which hurt, but not as much as his lies and blatant manipulation. First, he'd actually tried denying the infidelity when Caroline had tripped—literally _tripped_ —over their nearly-screwing bodies behind the rhododendrons in her backyard, chalking it up to her rampant insecurities and jealous imagination. He'd sworn again and again that he and Elena were _just friends._

"Come on, babe," Damon had crooned, approaching Caroline with cautious steps and his hands raised in surrender. "I promise this isn't what it seems."

Meanwhile, Elena, tears tumbling down her cheeks, had blushed and apologized prolifically as she'd tugged at the panties dangling down around her knees.

"It's nothing," he'd maintained, that smarmy smirk plastered on his face.

Elena, still trembling and teary, had seemed a little too distraught for a mere _nothing_ , however.

"Let's not blow this out of proportion, shall we?" Damon had rubbed Caroline's shoulders and tucked a curl behind her ear, tapping her lightly on the nose. "You _know_ how you do that."

He'd then placed a chaste kiss on her cheek; and speaking with his lips still pressed against her skin, he'd added, "It's your biggest problem."

 _Her_ problem? Was he freaking serious? Grass stains, husky moaning, and her best friend's enthusiastic thrusting weren't things Caroline willingly allowed in her imagination, okay? Ever.

"I may be blonde," she'd retorted back at him, pushing him away from her, eyes narrowed, "but I'm not _blind_!"

Raising her arm, she'd cocked it back and whapped him good—solid—with her closed fist. Straight in the left eye. She'd punched him so hard that his eye remained black-and-blue for three weeks, the sunshine emblem from her favorite ring leaving a raised impression in his cheek—a permanent one. (Which he damn well deserved.)

Damon had collapsed onto the buttercups as Caroline had wrung her hand and had wiped his blood from her knuckles with disgust. Glaring down at his pathetic, cowering, crawling-away form, she only had one thing left to say:

"You _suck_."

With that, plus one haughty hair flip, they broke up.

Caroline had left him there battered and bleeding, and she'd never looked back. Perhaps Damon may have been bruised by _her_ fists, but he wasn't half as broken as she was on the inside. And for that, for breaking her, she'd never truly forgive him. She'd never forget.

If all that wasn't bad enough, it got worse. Duped not only by his big brother, but by the love of his life, Stefan had been the one who felt the brunt of the affair. The absolute despair he'd betrayed at hearing the news—which Damon had attempted to dissuade Elena from relating (a consequence which her goody conscience wouldn't allow)—had punctured Caroline's heart more than anything she'd witnessed with her own eyes.

Disbelief. Sorrow. Rage. Retaliation. Despondency. Stefan vacillated along the entire spectrum of god-to-human emotion…and it wasn't pretty.

Always there, always supportive, Caroline had championed as his best friend and personal cheerleader of optimism. Before long, Stefan and Caroline had grown close. Together, they slowly had nursed each other back to health with the healing powers of unconditional friendship. They had moved on and ahead…as best as they could.

Still, despite Caroline's best efforts, she knew Stefan would never truly recover from the heartache. He couldn't. His heart—committed and unwavering—clung to purity of love he felt for both brother and girlfriend. Like a boomerang, it always circled back around to them and to Mystic Olympus. It always would.

While Caroline hated witnessing Stefan's brooding torment, she hated one thing more: herself. How hadn't she realized sooner that _asshole_ was Damon's most prominent characteristic? _Seriously._

* * *

"Caroline, our conversation wasn't finished," Liz said. Her boots, squishing in patient yet determined strides, tramped through the grass as she followed behind.

Caroline moaned.

Sliding off Black Beauty's back, she tore the leather reins from Damon's grip, gave the horse a _good girl_ kiss, and led her toward the stable at the far end of the yard. It sat secluded beneath three large maple trees near the duck pond. Rustic and quaint, it cut a picturesque image with its white picket fence and bushels of wildflowers.

"Can we talk about this later, Mom?" she pleaded. "Preferably without Gory the Godless Gladiator around?" She flicked her fingers at Damon with revulsion. "Please?"

It'd been a long, bizarre day. Caroline's foray into the Underworld had left her dirty, disheveled, and delirious. What she needed now was privacy and a hot bubble bath _not_ endless hours of investigation from her mother.

"What's the matter, Blondie? Afraid I'll divulge all of your sordid secrets?" Damon goaded as he made mock kissy noises.

"Perhaps we'd better continue this in private," Liz suggested, fixing him with a pointed look as the gate swung closed behind her.

"I'll take that as my cue," Damon shrugged. "Though I'll be sorry to miss all the dirty, _dirty_ details."

While Caroline rolled her eyes at his childishness, Liz rubbed a hand over her face, "Damon," she scolded.

"Right," he smirked. "It's been delightfully boring, ladies, but it seems I have pressing business in the nymph woodlands," he said.

With one obnoxious bow, he strode away with his hand waving casually in goodbye and his teeth puncturing the skin of his apple to take another bite.

"Make sure that _business_ takes you straight over the nearest cliff," she muttered to his retreating figure. "Asshole."

Caroline shooed him away in _good riddens_ as she secured Black Beauty to the fence near the feeding station. She then retreated to the well across the way to fetch a bucket of water and some unpicked apples from the orchard on the other side of the fence, taking longer than necessary to procure the items she needed. Caroline wasn't particularly desirous of returning to face her mom's tiresome questions and disapproving glances.

With Damon gone— _thank the gods_ —no buffer existed now. And while she wasn't sure what else Liz wanted to say, she no longer had a reason to divert her attention elsewhere, or to shirk her questions. But honesty, like always, became Caroline's sword of choice.

"She's striking, I'll give you that," Liz said, scratching under the horse's chin with her fingertips as her daughter approached. "Just beautiful."

She leaned in and kissed the animal on the nose.

"There's something stunning about her black, shiny form galloping forth from another world against the backdrop of a spring sunset," Liz remarked, casting a probing glance at Caroline "with _you_ on her back."

Exhaling slowly, she shook her head in disbelief and laughed without humor, "The devil's beast brought you home. I can honestly say that's something I hoped I'd _never_ see."

Caroline's brow furrowed at this.

After dumping fresh water into the trough, she tossed the apples she'd plucked into a bucket and began dismantling the riding equipment from Black Beauty's back. Concentration seared into her forehead as saddle straps unbuckled, reins untangled, and stirrups loosened, her perfectionist neuroses causing her to arrange everything into neat piles on the ground.

"She's not the devil's horse anymore, mom. She's _mine."_

She had a feeling this admission of fact wouldn't go over well, so after stooping to retrieve the riding equipment in one swoop, she rushed away to the storage closet. Liz followed promptly. Seizing her by the elbow she reached to unlock the stable doors, her mom spun her around, fingers digging into the bare skin of Caroline's shoulders.

"What did you promise him."

A demand, not a question.

Caroline tilted her head back, eyes wide with astonishment and confusion, "Nothing," she breathed.

"Nothing? _Nothing_?" her mother scoffed, her hands shaking. Liz's hold felt almost as clutching and as desperate as the horrified look that currently flooded her brown eyes. "The King of the Underworld doesn't give presents like that—" she gestured wildly at Black Beauty who, unbothered, drank water from the trough "without expecting some kind of payment in return. He wants something from you, Caroline, and he wants something _bad_."

Irrevocable conviction somersaulted from her tone.

"What—" Fingernails ploughed further into flesh, colliding into bone. "—does—" Anguish marred her gentle lips and contorted them into harsh, shadowed lines of terror. "—he want?"

Caroline gaped into her mother's raging, despairing eyes, her throat drier than sand. She fumbled for words, raking teeth over her tongue in search of the proper word to begin, to explain but...nothing came out but air. Hot and silent.

"Just tell me," Liz cooed, mistaking her daughter's silence for fear and pulling her into a rough embrace. Rocking side-to-side, she kissed her forehead with quivering lips. "Tell me how you escaped, how you made it home safe. I'll try—I'll try not to get angry," she promised.

"Please—please let me in this time," she implored, pulling back. She cupped Caroline's face in her hands. "Let me be there for you. Let me find a way to help you. Just—" tears pooled her in her eyes "—just tell me what you've promised him?"

Pulling away, tears in her eyes, she cupped Caroline's face in her hands.

"Nothing," Caroline exclaimed defiantly, tripping backwards as she struggled out of Liz's grasp, "I promised him _nothing,_ okay?"

Her back collided into the closed stable doors with a resounding _thud_ , her hands burrowing into the wood for standing support as her thumb twiddled the bronze lock between her fingers. Alarm and agitation reddened her pale face, brightened her blue eyes. She lifted her chin, "Klaus let me go, Mom. He set me _free_ ," she explained.

"He let me go with no strings attached, with no contracts signed or future obligations to fulfill—I am _free_." Raising her arms, Caroline thrust her hands forward to expose her bare wrists. There were no chains. No shackles. No handcuffs. She was not bound to anything...or to anyone. "Hope," she said, peering hard into her mother's eyes, words combusting with feeling, "hope is the only thing I promised him."

"Hope for what, Caroline?"

The weariness in Liz's voice caused Caroline to drop her head backwards with frustration. Turning away, she fished keys out of her back pocket and unlocked the squeaky doors of the stable and pushed inside.

"I don't know? Hope that maybe someday, if I felt like it, I'd visit the Underworld again. Hope that I'll take a chance and approach his well-documented flaws with a grain of salt—an open mind," she said. Grabbing a broom from the first stall, hay crunched beneath her feet as she swept away dirt, leaves, and cobwebs from the floor. "Hope that I'll learn to hear the history he relates before I attack him over it."

Whipping around suddenly, Caroline halted in her cleaning to prop the broom handle under chin and meet Liz's eyes, "Out of all the dark and dreary contracts that supposedly take place in the Underworld," she said, "how was _hope_ a bad thing to promise Klaus? It's not like it cost me my precious soul or anything. In fact, it cost me nothing."

Liz sighed. Fatigue colored her face in the morose tones of dark circles and bloodshot eyes as she rubbed her temples and said, "I never thought you'd be so gullible."

"And I never thought you'd be so _judgmental_ ," Caroline countered with a huff. Throwing the broom against the wall behind her, it snapped in half and snowed splintered wood around her feet in shards of red. "How can you say that when you _don't know him_?"

"Because neither do you!" Liz bit back harshly.

"And that is exactly my point!" she smiled, feeling encouraged for the first time, "I _don't_ know Klaus. Nobody does. Don't you see, mom?"

Rushing over, she enveloped an arm around Liz's waist and squeezed her tight, resting her head against her mother's shoulder. As she steered them back outside to the feeding area, composure slumped her shoulders and eased her into a jounce as they walked.

"All any of us knows, all any of us _sees_ is the King of Darkness, the taker of the dead, the god without a heart... All we perceive is the notion that _the devil wears many faces_ and all that jazz. But what Klaus Mikaelson, the person _?_ " she wondered aloud. "Who knows _him_?"

Deep in thought, Liz's eyebrows pinched together, silence stretching out longer between mother and daughter.

"It's like everyone in this entire universe forgot that he's a person just like the rest of us, you know?"

A faraway look gleamed over Caroline's eyes as she looked up and into the night, lost in her own introspection. Twinkling constellations and the bright spotlight of a full moon now populated the evening sky and cloaked them both in peaceful darkness. Black Beauty, who was still tied to the fence post, swished her tail around and around upon hearing their voices drawing nearer.

"It's no wonder he's rumored to be so vile and vicious," Caroline half-laughed as she fed the horse an apple, "that kind of ignorance would drive _anyone_ mad, don't you think?"

No response.

"Look, Mom—" After wiping her hands against the fabric of her white dress, she turned to meet her mother's gaze. "I don't want to fight. I love you," she said frankly.

Liz's lips trembled as she reached for her daughter's hands and squeezed.

"I love you for always being there and for wanting to protect me," she continued, "but I need you to believe in me now. I need your support in this." She looked to the ground, biting her bottom lip. "Can you—can you try to let me make up my own mind about Klaus?"

Liz shifted uncomfortably and compressed her lips together.

"Can you try to see that there's a _man_ who rules the Underworld, and not just a god?"

At the sight of hope and pleading glistening from Caroline's eyes, warmth slowly begin to melt the severity in Liz's features and she drew her daughter into her. She placed a sweet kiss on her forehead. "You've always had a big, daring heart, I'm afraid," she sighed with fondness more than censure, "and the gods know I've never been able to temper your vast worldy interests."

Burrowing her head further into her mother's neck, Caroline's chest rumbled with laughter at this.

"Just promise me that you'll be cautious," she requested, "that won't let your curiosity for the King of the Underworld take you away from me? Promise me you won't let it get you killed."

Caroline pulled back, eyes bold and brave, "I—"

—Unfortunately, her promise to her mother was truncated prematurely when a bunch of strange things suddenly occurred at once, disrupting everything:

First, the ground quaked and quivered beneath their feet. It sent a dagger of tremors flying across the soil of the earth, radiating the land in glowing shades of volcanic orange, tossing Liz on her ass, Caroline on her back, and sending a prickly shower of hay over their heads. Second, Black Beauty reared from the ground, snarling, onto her hind legs and kicked into the vacant air. Aiming to gallop away into the night sky. She relented only when Caroline managed to crawl to the reins and pull, placing calm, reassuring pats on her back hoof. Third, and probably most bizarre of all, a gangly shape staggered into the shadows of the apple orchard, tripping over grass divots and fallen branches.

As the form drew nearer to the stable gate, darkness fading away, Caroline, through squinted eyes, perceived a young woman tottering toward them with labored steps. Her jeans were tattered, sliced and ripped across the thigh and shins. Her lips, though pouty and pretty, were stained with dirt, blood, and smeared lipstick. And her hair...

...That was the lightbulb.

Recognizing the girl immediately, Caroline gained her feet with swiftness and sprung at her, leaving her mother in her dusty wake. The girl barely made it two steps inside the stable gate before she collapsed. Eyes slamming closed.

Skidding next to her, plopped on her knees, Caroline jostled the girls' shoulders violently. Desperately. "Elena!" she yelled. "Elena, wake up!"

Her friend's heavy-lidded eyes fluttered open at the sound of her name, then fluttered back shut.

"Who is it? What's happened?" Liz asked breathlessly as she came up running from behind. A hand flew over her mouth as she recognized the girl sprawled across the ground. "What's happened to her?"

Caroline crumpled back onto her heels and compressed her hands against her knees, shock draining her face of its usual animation. "Something malevolent," she replied as she shuffled Elena's weight onto her lap in disbelief. "I'd bet my life on it."

Despite the fact that she and Elena had their differences—self-centered-cheating-boyfriend-indecision and all—Caroline wasn't the type to throw away ten years of friendship over a guy. Especially not one as scummy as Damon Salvatore. She loved her friends and protected her friends and made sacrifices for her friends…sometimes to a fault. That being said, seeing Elena in this catatonic state made her want to scream. To sob. To scour the world and freaking _find_ the people responsible for this. To make them pay.

Fury zipped through her veins like fluids from an IV, energizing her with purpose and resolve. Yes, they would _pay_. They would be sorry.

"There's definitely something wrong here. I mean, look at her hair," Caroline remarked, pointing to her friend's brunette locks.

"What's wrong with it?"

Elena's hair—long, flowing, and shiny—ordinarily extended down to her waist. It was famed and revered throughout the universe for its thickness and exquisite beauty, maintained by expert grooming fairies who combed it for hours upon hours. Tourists travelled far and wide to witness its loveliness in person. Only now, gnarled and tangled into giant, twisted knots, it didn't look so lovely. And neither did Elena...

Face-palming, Caroline gaped at her mother's oblivion and said wryly, "Are you kidding? It's a freaking mess! I mean look at it!" Snatching a few brunette tendrils, she twiddled them between her fingers and tilted her hand for Liz to see. "It's like—it's like a nest of angry snakes."

* * *

" _ **There's a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in."—**_ **Leonard Cohen**

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE : **

**Sending a personal shout-out to _fanfantasticworld_ on Tumblr for my fantastic fic cover. It's beauuutiful! Thank you so much! *hugs***

 **A few of you have asked if this will be longer than a three-shot and the answer is (obviously) YES YES YES. I'd originally intended for this to be no longer than a five-shot, but I'm having such a blast writing this that it'll likely be double that. If not more. ;) I have some cool plot ideas planned, so stay tuned. Thanks for reading! :)**

 **Shoot me a review and let me know what you think, por favor.**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**


	4. Unfinished Business

**AUTHOR'S NOTE : HAPPY KLAROWEEN! Sorry it's taken me so long to update! Suffice it to say that my original writing projects have taken over my life, but that they have-in no way-caused me to abandon this lovely story. **

**Happy reading. :)**

 **DISCLAIMER : I don't own anything TVD/TO related.**

* * *

 _ **Anger and agony**_

 _ **Are better than misery…**_

 _ **Pain, without love**_

 _ **Pain, can't get enough**_

 _ **Pain, I like it rough**_

' _ **cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all.**_

 **-** _ **Pain**_ **, Three Days Grace**

* * *

Cold. Callous. Leafless. There was no blossoming life left in him, only wilting death.

Like a leaking faucet, blood drip-drip-dripped to puddle the hardwood floor in thick, creamy streaks of red. Klaus inhaled, eyes closed, and hummed along with the hushed but lethal lullaby as his foot tapped along to the melodic drip-drop, drip-drop. Rocking side-to-side, contentment swept over him as he swayed in mindless grace like a solitary branch trapped in winter's icy breeze.

The sweet sonata of pain crescendoed behind him in muted moans and groans. The sound unscrunched his tense shoulders and sloped them away from his subject of study with an easy focus. Back to his latest creation of art. Blank—aside from his sufferer's dried blood, the perfect texture.

Texture. So many artists forgot about the enhancing power of texture—how a speck, a fleck, or a crumb of something real; of something honest, could slice people open and condemn them to feel. To hurt.

The bumpy consistency of blood—real blood—that Klaus applied to the canvas before him became a concrete reminder of the truth: pain hemorrhages from within our veins.

Potent and pervasive, it pumps from our hearts and pours across skin; it patters revenge against floors, prickles eyes full of unshed tears, and prods hard, long, and rough, as it pounds doubt and loathing into our minds like a heartbeat.

 _Pa-pump, pa-pump_. Pain persists.

 _Pa-pump, pa-pump_. Pain perforates.

 _Pa-pump, pa-pump_. Pain punishes.

 _Pa-pump, pa-pump_. It never stops; it never ends.

As for Klaus—he wasn't the type of man to forget that. He wasn't the type to forgive it either, was he? He snarled at the mere thought.

 _Never_.

His paintbrush fanned the sticky substance over the canvas in wispy, feathered strokes, the textured paint-substitute soon molding to form a clumped crown of agony: all bruises, bones, and blood.

Klaus stepped back. Away. Assessing his work with the eyes of a critic.

Here, tucked away on a once-blank page far away from the curious, judgmental eyes of gods and humanity, royalty resided. Here, sat Klaus Hades Mikaelson: the Uncelebrated King of Pain, the Unseen King of Hell. Here, he ruled. Here, he remained. Here, he lived butchered and broken, but forever shrouded in thriving darkness.

 _I live. I breathe. I survive._

How humans found discomfort from pain, Klaus would never understand. It was the one constant in this universe—it was the one catalyst that always spurred greater strength and grander power. Pain wasn't something to shirk, it was something to squeeze…and to never let go.

Klaus wasn't afraid to obscure himself in that rugged, impenetrable armor of hurt because beneath it, he flourished with unmatched dexterity and skill. Pain had sharpened his cleverness like a spear. It had mobilized his penchant for paranoia, duplicity, and retaliation…all attributes that had transformed him into the most devilish of desserts. Pain had sculpted his heart into iron, brandishing him with the will—and the need—to survive.

Without it, he wouldn't know what it meant to be alive—as a human, as a god, or as an individual creature in this vast and cosmic universe. Without it…would anyone?

* * *

There were two respectful raps on the door followed by one high-pitched grunt.

"Can you please unlock the bloody door before I age another century, Nik?"

Klaus never once flinched, never once deigned to halt his artful ministrations. He dabbed his brush into fresh paint and swirled it around methodically on his palette, patiently considering the placement of his next brushstroke. He needed not only to imagine the color, but to breathe it in…and out…in the calm of his own mind. Art could not be rushed. It was half premeditation, half sensation.

"When I'm good and ready, sister," he replied drily.

"Niklaus…" Elijah entreated.

"Let us in, dammit!" Rebekah interjected. Her knuckles slammed against the wood in _knock-knock-knock_. "We've been out here twiddling our thumbs for long enough, you prat."

Klaus smirked at the sound of her fist hammering and pounding against the dense wood of his bedroom door, the handle jerking and jiggling in vain.

"Open the bloody door!" she repeated as she most likely writhed and kicked at both his door and at his handsy (though entrusted) Underworld subordinates. " _Now_."

A thousand years as the reigning princess of the Underworld had done little to quell his sister's impatient nature. In fact, it only had made her more spoiled. And demanding. And not to mention loud as all hell…

"I can't believe you dispatched your army of grimy moon-howlers—Hands _off_ , Shrek," she scolded, "to summon us for a family meeting—touch me one more time and I'll saw off your fingers with a rusty blade and feed them to my pet dragon like _chicken fingers_ —at dawn!"

Rebekah's shrill voice bellowed from the hallway as she swatted, slapped, and swore. "Are you stark-raving mad?"

Elijah released a long sigh, probably pinching the bridge of his nose. "Niklaus, _please_ ," he pleaded in a slightly agitated, subdued tone.

"If I wanted to frolic under the light of the full moon," Rebekah continued, "I'd become a blood-sucking leech who feasted off human arteries for caffeine this early in the morning! Do you have any idea what bloody time it is? This better be worse than immortal death, or I swear to the gods—"

His calm concentration now shattered (thanks mostly to his sister's incessant whining) Klaus growled.

"I will kick your ass all the way through the 7 Flowered Realms!" she bellowed. "And I promise that you'll sprout rose jaggers on your tongue…for the rest…of your…immortal… _EXISTENCE_!"

Moving away from his easel, Klaus lowered his paintbrush and snapped his fingers. As he did so, a dusty wind swung open the door and ushered his peeved siblings into the room, the door slamming shut behind them the moment they entered. Morning or not, Mikaelson meetings were exclusive: Family Only. They weren't meant for the curious ears or gossiping tongues of other Underworld dwellers.

"About bloody time," Rebekah yawned, scratching her eyes.

Her pink fuzzy slippers shuffled across the floor as she took a seat on a leather sofa near some bookshelves, patting Klaus on the chest affectionately as she passed. Her impatience had receded…at least temporarily. Elijah, fully dressed in a custom navy suit, followed in her wake. Silent, stoic, and suspicious as ever, he squinted warily about the room.

The space (Klaus' spacious suite) glimmered in blazing decadence. Soft, orange flamelights flickered in antique ebony sconces and gave the room a dimmed, comfortable ambiance. Books, paints, charcoal, and collectibles from ancient times cluttered shelves and tables everywhere. Melancholy jazz purred in the background, crying loneliness into the air with each somber note of that despairing trombone. And although darkness clung to the furniture with its solid upholsteries and harsh leathers, the walls colored the space with the warmth of repressed passion…and fresh blood.

"Is this your idea of breakfast?" Elijah remarked somberly, gesturing at the dangling, slowly swirling form suspended where Klaus' ceiling fan once resided. "Kol on toast?"

Hanging upside-down like a human bat, his hands and feet bound in black chandelier chains, Kol still managed a half-chuckle and a wink. "I'm sure I'll be scrumptious," he said.

"Oh, come on!" Rebekah complained, jumping up. "Not again, surely?"

Klaus shrugged and nudged Kol forcefully with his elbow as he maneuvered back toward his painting, causing the latter to sway back-and-forth over a blazing hole in the floor, flames singeing the tips of his messy brown hair. "I'm afraid so," Klaus said flatly.

"No," Rebekah shook her head vehemently as she stalked after him, "no you _promised._ "

Klaus grabbed a canister of art supplies from a desk nearby, only to have his sister swat it from his hand. Paintbrushes cascaded all over the floor and tumbled into the flaming abyss near their feet. They burned to ash in seconds.

Enraged, Klaus snarled, his nostrils flaring,"I do not care, Rebekah!" he countered. "Do you not understand that? Do you not realize that promises mean nothing to me? _Nothing_."

Grabbing his canvas, he chucked it at the wall behind his head, watching as it splintered in half. "Not anymore…"

Rebekah curled her fingers around the fabric of Klaus' grey Henley as he said this and flipped him around to face her. Removing his hands from where they covered his eyes, she peered into his face brazenly. Then, without warning…she slapped him. Hard.

Hand-printed and raw, Klaus' face blazed, but he stood still. He made no move to retaliate. "Just listen—" he attempted to explain.

"No. No, I will _not._ " Clenching and unclenching her fists, Rebekah paced back and forth in front of her brother. "How dare you," she fumed, "how _dare_ you!"

"I will not stand here and listen to any more of your damn excuses, do you hear me? But so help the gods, you will _not_ lock Kol away in a flaming casket for decades. I refuse to watch him desiccate again. I—" Emotion quivered her lower lip. "I won't stand for it!"

"I don't care how pissed off you are at him, Nik," Rebekah continued. "We're your siblings—he's your _brother_!" Her tone sounded both grasping and mournful. "Why do you keep punishing us for our old life, when it was one we had _no choice_ but to live without you?"

Stopping abruptly, Rebekah grasped Klaus by the collar tighter, anguish radiating at him from her white knuckles. Emotion spilled from her eyes and mouth as she proceeded to upbraid him.

"We—the three of us—" she drew an invisible circle in the air, looping a line around Elijah, Kol, and herself "—promised to stand by you for the rest of eternity," she said. "We have helped you establish your kingdom. We have helped you to defeat foes, increase your army, expand your power. We have demonstrated our loyalty to you over and over and _over_ again."

"What more do you want," she asked accusingly, "what more do you _need_?"

Elijah stepped between them then, clutching his sister by the elbow and disentangling her death-grip from around Klaus' neck.

"Come, now. This is unnecessary."

"No, it's not right! It's not right!" Rebekah jerked away from her brother. "He shouldn't need to concoct binding deals of loyalty. He shouldn't need words. The truth is right here—right in front of his stubborn, distrustful face," she argued, her hands gesticulating wildly. "He sucked the life from our bones without asking, Elijah."

"He sacrificed us to death selfishly…greedily," she proceeded. And yet—" Rebekah paused and turned to meet Klaus' hardened expressed, heaviness and emotion pressing against her throat. "And yet, _still_ , we have followed and supported him. _Still_ , we have loved him."

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she lunged forward, launching herself at her brother and banging fists hard against his chest like mallets. Desperation clinging to each and every blow she pounded into his shirt. Over his heart.

"We have loved you. We have done nothing _but_ love you, you bastard! Why can't you see that? Why?"

Fatigue overpowering her in both body and spirit, she stepped backwards. Hurt and disappointment glistened across her face in fresh tears.

"Perhaps _always and forever_ means nothing to you, Nik," she sniffed, swiping at the falling tears with her pinky, "but it means something to me…to _us_."

"And if you can't understand that, if you can't accept that one unconditional bloody truth—" Rebekah paused and lifted her chin at Klaus before crossing to snatch a fresh cinnamon latte (her favorite) where it rested on an end table near a sofa, freshly brewed. "—then perhaps you deserve to be alone forever," she huffed.

Tension cloaked them all in silence for a moment.

Klaus opened his mouth to speak, but found his words trapped in hot air at the back of his throat.

Rebekah wasn't wrong. He had punished all of his siblings unjustly at times. He knew he had. Usually for perceived betrayals that turned out to be foundationless—which he always acknowledged when his temper waned, by the way…usually after a few short decades of flaming-casket-confinement beneath his floorboards.

Perhaps Klaus overreacted sometimes, but what in the hell did people expect? It was his eternal fucking birthright to punish betrayers. Ruling with an iron fist was the only way to ensure that the traitorous morons of the universe learned one extremely important lesson: no one screwed with Klaus Mikaelson. No one. The god of the dead needed to be harsh—he had an Underworld kingdom to preserve, goddammit!

The point here wasn't that he condemned his siblings to hot coffins every now and again, but that he always relented and set them free… _eventually_! Surely that counted for something, right?

…Right?

Trust wasn't a Klaus-approved commodity. It existed in short supply, if at all. It's not that he didn't try to trust, but that he didn't know how.

Millennia filled with the reality of abandonment and his parent's joint disdain had left Klaus skeptical of everything. And of everyone. This proved to be both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness; for although it kept him two steps ahead of his scheming adversaries, it also kept him two steps behind his unwavering supporters. He wielded a double-edged sword every day of his life. Literally and metaphorically.

Didn't Rebekah realize how fucking exhausting that was? Didn't his siblings? Didn't anyone?

"Not to diminish your theatrics, Bekah," Kol interrupted from his bat-like perch on the ceiling, "but I have been an _awfully_ naughty boy," he smirked. "It's possible a fried chicken punishment fits my crime."

"You can't be serious!"

"Yep," he replied with a pop of his lips, "but only when forced, darling."

Kol's face gleamed reddish-purple—partly from gravity and partly from Underworld sunburn (aka: fire-burn) as his head teetered six feet above the raging inferno in the floor. Blood spilled across his skin from a series of intricate gashes etched into his right forearm and volcanic ash obscured his v-neck and jeans in gritty dirt. Despite all of this, however, he exuded an air of nonchalance. Like he could bat-hang for hours.

Elijah pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed as he stepped to Kol's left, "What have you done now? Explain yourself, please," he demanded in monotone.

"Let's just say that I may have accidentally neglected my guard-dog duties last night as a consequence of Eve's beguiling temptation…"

"More like blatantly disregarded, you imp!" Klaus griped under his breath.

"You see," Kol explained, "this earthy babe blazed white-hot in my potential flames on Instaflame." Elijah blinked back at him questioningly, but he carried on without noticing. "It's that new intra-realm dating website. Anyway, Katherine caught me at it and suggested that I contact this magical goddess pronto, and well—"

He paused, cracking a cheeky smile and licking his lips..

"Who am I to resist an enchanted lady?"

Rebekah groaned and flashed to stand opposite Elijah. Arms crossed.

"Do you _ever_ bother to think with your brain?" she asked.

"Not if I can be thinking with something else, darling," Kol clucked in reply. "Something that—shall I say it? Operates with excited _firmness_?"

While he cackled, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, Rebekah narrowed her eyes and threw warm muffins at him like darts at a bullseye. "Klaus," she drawled sweetly, "I believe I've changed my mind…"

A crepe smacked Kol between the eyes and smeared filling across his forehead, her lips twitching into a spiteful smile as she added with a growl, " _Roast him_. Roast him like the disgusting pig he is."

The longer Rebekah launched her breakfast-food assault, the more violently—not to mention precariously—her youngest brother rocked over the fiery abyss as he attempted to evade her muffin missiles.

"Oi! I surrender! I surrender!" he croaked as he slipped lower, the chain that tethered him to safety trembling under the force of his swinging weight. "I can't raise my bound bloody hands, but—" he chuckled "—but I surrender to you, oh, Mighty Princess of Chastity."

Rebekah glared the inventive endearment.

"I only ask that the gods may strike us all celibate until you, dear sister, get laid again."

"Why, you repugnant little—"

"Which, hopefully, for your sake (and ours)," he added in half-whisper, half-snicker, "will be soon. Abstinence does nothing but make you a cranky bi—"

"—That's it!" Rebekah shrieked, interrupting him and lurching forward with her hands extended like claws. "I'm going to plunge you into the fires of hell _MYSELF_!"

Before she managed to flash close enough to snap Kol's neck, however, Elijah's stern form jetted before her, halting her progress with a single look of disapprobation. His voice, though disciplined, cut through the air with deafening clarity.

"Enough," he commanded. "Let us desist of this infantile behavior at once. Since Niklaus has summoned us here at sunrise, I take it there are important matters to discuss. Kol—" Pacing, he unbuttoned his suit jacket and pointed at his brother's gyrating head with firm warning. "You have tried my patience long enough. I want you to stop spewing sarcasm and speaking in riddles immediately. Tell us what has happened in concrete terms. _Now_."

"Maybe the troublemaking rascal's merely acquired new fashion accessories in shades of black and blood?" Rebekah scoffed under her breath.

Elijah fixed his sister with a silencing look.

"You can begin by explaining why Niklaus felt it necessary to hang you in this flagrant manner," he said.

Klaus, who had remained silent during this entire exchange, had gravitated away from his siblings. With his back turned to them, he stood before his bedroom window with one hand gripping the inside of his back jeans pocket. Fury and longing radiated off his shoulders like condensation as his forehead pressed against the smooth paned glass and he peered out at his home—his precious volcanic kingdom—with distracted eyes. Lost from it all.

The bloodshot warmth of the Underworld sky seared across his face like it did every morning; only today, a despondent chill entrapped his heart for the first time that he could recall in his thousand-year existence. Unfortunately, it wasn't the kind of cold to be melted away with scorching flames or sweltering magma. A chill this poignant required something more patient and less brutal than the vaporizing elements available in Klaus' kingdom—it required sunshine. And the problem wasn't that this thawing tenderness didn't exist, but that it didn't exist _here_ in this harsh and arid place full of the dead where he needed it. No, the sunlight he needed existed elsewhere…

…With _her_.

And that wasn't okay. In fact, it was downright _unacceptable_.

"Considering that I'm probably going to pass out soon," Kol responded, his words becoming slurred, "I may as well tell you the news. Someone escaped."

Stooping to the ground, Elijah reached out to procure some excess chain slack and yanked his brother forcefully across the gaping fire pit, stopping only to grip him by either side of the head. He narrowed his eyes down at him and said, "Excuse me?"

"E-S-C-A-P-E-D."

Elijah's eyebrows pinched together. The vein over his right temple thumped as he bent closer into Kol's face, his teeth grinding as he sifted through this information silently. Questioning its validity.

"Yes, you heard me right. Someone escaped."

"What do you mean _someone escaped_?" Elijah asked, the words spitting out of his mouth with sharp and caustic bluntness. "It's impossible."

After Kol's cheeky, _not entirely true_ reply, he reeled his brother closer still and appraised him harder. Amber eyes severe with scrutiny.

"Do you mean to tell me," he started, "that someone managed to evade an army of expertly-trained moon-howlers, a cluster of nightmare-breathing black dragons, the spidernet of agony, and the Gated Guard to escape through the obstructed wards of the Underworld—" he paused "—on _your_ watch?"

"Uh…yes?"

Gasping in shock, Rebekah darted next to Elijah and bumped him to the left with her hip so she could grab a large fistful of Kol's hair, "You did, _what_?" she bellowed. Of all the wild and stupid—reckless—INSANE—things you've done over the centuries—do you have any idea what you've done? What this _means_?"

"To be fair," Kol conceded with a cough, "my Internet distraction didn't prevent me from halting the escape entirely."

"You're luck Nik hasn't turned you to ash, you moron!" she said as she tugged his spiky tendrils with ripping strokes.

"I tried—I honestly tried!"

"And yet," Elijah mused, adjusting his tie, "it seems you were still unsuccessful. There was nothing you could do to prevent the escape?"

"No. Nothing. Let's just say she pr-proved to be rather desperate to flee the Underworld." He scoffed. "S-sccarringly so." His words suddenly became more labored as his lips struggled to form them. He took deep breaths in an strenuous effort to keep his fluttering eyes open. Alert. "Check—check out my right arm if you don't…believe me," he insisted.

While Elijah towed him closer, cold curiosity lining his lower jaw, Rebekah rolled up the right sleeve of his black thermal shirt to reveal his forearm.

"What the actual boiling hell?" she exclaimed when she saw it.

There, carved into his charred skin in a mix of blood and ash, were two flaming words: UNFINISHED BUSINESS.

"Who the bloody devil did this to you?"

No answer.

"Kol?" Rebekah asked, shaking him by the hair.

Again, no response.

"Kol, now is not the time for theatrics. Now I asked you a simple—"

Elijah raised his hand at this. He flicked Kol twice on the forehead and then leaned down to inspect his face again. Only, this time, instead of meeting with another one of his brother's trademark smirks, he met with his wide open and gaping mouth.

"Just as I suspected," Elijah sighed, "he's passed out."

"Typical."

Rolling her eyes, Rebekah shoved Kol's suspended body away from her and threw herself into the nearest chair while Elijah marched back-and-forth across the floor scratching his chin. Though he strode with refined grace, impatience now lingered where once only cool passivity existed.

"I don't understand who would do this? Who would want to leave?"

"Yes, you do," Klaus grumbled from the window, breaking his silence at last. "You know _exactly_ who."

His voice was low. Too calm. Too collected.

His siblings would perceive the danger in his inflection—how rage seethed through him like flickering flames…how it obscured his rational heart and bricked it into callousness…how unpredictability chaffed him raw, flooding him with a paranoid need to eradicate every ounce of vulnerability he possessed—and why shouldn't they? Let them! Let them quiver; let them shake and tremble. Letter terror earthquake their immortal hearts apart in the same way that pain earthquakes his—in rivets and ripples that upchuck the hope of serenity forever. Relentless, the tremors crash over his back in tsunami waves. Drowning him in wetness and cold, cold, cold. Chilling him past bone, and into the soul.

With his back still turned to his siblings, Klaus clutched a photo-strip to his chest like lifeline—he could not let go. _Never, never never_.

Looking down, he saw a collage of their faces—Caroline's frozen in cheerfulness, beauty, and brightness; Klaus', smug and spellbound.

Spontaneity had become another one of her endearing attributes as she'd laced her arm around his waist and had corralled him behind the dark curtains of a photo booth near his favorite Underworld theater. Boxing him into place by sprawling across his lap all legs and arms, Caroline had draped her hands around his neck, her fingers scratching through his curls. Her smooth forehead collided against his own so she could diminish the distance between their bodies and gaze—all eyes, eyelashes, and eyebrows—through him, to the inside.

Caroline had cupped his face in her hands. "I take it the King of Darkness is against taking photos?" she'd asked pertly.

"That would be correct."

"Never?"

"Never."

A pout had enveloped her lips as she'd processed this. Then, with a shrug, she had pushed the button and cuddled into him. "Unfortunately for you, I am all about preservation. Now," she instructed, "act like this is the best Underworld date you've ever had!"

"You're the only Underworld date I've ever had," he replied drily.

"It's always lovely to be someone's first." Caroline had smiled at this before striking a pose where she stuck out her tongue before the camera flashed, "Now say _cheese_!"

Caroline had gifted him the photos in the end. _A token of Underworld firsts_ , she'd called it. She'd placed them in his wallet for safe-keeping and had made him promise not to toss them in the garbage until after she looked away (as if he'd dare to discard any proof of her exquisiteness). Those photos became precious memories molded forever in the exuberant sunshine of their happy, goofy faces and they never left him. Neither did she.

But oh, how he wanted those beloved moments back! How he wanted _her_ back! Oh, what he wouldn't do to appease this miserable, bodily pain!

Flipping around, Klaus waggled his finger at Elijah accusingly, his eyes glimmering a malicious red and black.

"You," he grimaced, "you and all of your hollow promises." He flashed to a cabinet to the right of his balcony window and rummaged through it like a madman, knocking bottles to the floor in glassy thunder. "All of those hours you wasted assuring me in the most sophisticated, persuasive language that she'd be mine— _ours_ —for the rest of eternity. Ha!"

His fingers finally strangled the neck of the aged bourbon he needed and he yanked it free. To hell with the hour!

"What a bloody fool I was to listen," he scorned.

"I'm sorry. I—I don't know what else to say," Elijah stammered. Haggard and deflated, he collapsed into a chair next to his sister and wiped a hand across his face. "It makes no sense, Niklaus. Not when she could flourish here—not when she could be free."

While Rebekah patted Elijah on the shoulder sympathetically, Klaus roared with ominous laughter.

"By the time I'm finished with her," he snarled as he turned to face them, nostrils flaring, "she'll live to regret the mere thought of escaping from the Underworld…or from me."

Rebekah gulped, "What are you going to do?"

His demeanor severe, his erect posture booming with the impending hurricane of hell, Klaus stalked to his dresser and ripped open the first drawer, almost crushing it to pieces with the force of his pull.

"What I should have done from the beginning," he said, savage threat in his tone, "inextricably bind her—body, heart, and soul—to this kingdom…to this darkness…and to me. _Forever_."

A mixture of panic and curiosity lined his sister's expression as he tossed her a ring-shaped box and added with a vengeful grin, "And you three—-" he eyed his siblings "—my beloved, _loyal_ family members are going to help me to do just that."

Klaus _would_ find her; he _would_ bind her—Mikaelsons never broke their promises.

Raising the bottle of bourbon to his lips, he tore off the lid with teeth and saluted the air in honor of this dark, unbreachable pledge. Swig after swig after swig he drank, guzzling down the booze like water. He drank until nothing remained but the blistering heat of unquenchable thirst…and Caroline.

* * *

" _ **I will be wild. I will be brutal. I will encircle you and conquer you. I will be more powerful than your boats and your swords and your blood lust. I will be inevitable."**_

— _ **A Memory of Wind,**_ **Rachel Swirsky**

* * *

 **ADDITIONAL NOTE : I know there's not a lot of Klaroline interaction in this chapter again _*hides*_ , but they will be reunited shortly. I promise. ;) In addition, I'd like to extend my warmest THANK YOU to all of you wonderful readers for your continued encouragement and support. It mea** **ns so much!**

 **Anyway, what did you think? Review, por favor? :)**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**


	5. Beneath the Skin

**AUTHOR'S NOTE** **: I know it's been forever and a day since I've updated this story * _hides_ * but I finally tapped into some fic-writing time and inspiration for an update. The mythological history/world I'm attempting to build for this story is convoluted and stumped me for a bit. **

**Anyway, I hope you like it. See you below.**

 **xx Ashlee Bree**

* * *

Thorns, blood thick as tar, and terror—that's what Caroline felt first. The terror, the terror of thorns sliding out of finger stems and slicing. Slithering across invisible hands—one clamped over her mouth, the other suctioned around her waist—and slicing. Shaving away pieces of black leather, then skin, like a blunt razor in _swipe, swipe, swipe,_ siphoning this foreign black blood like a thirsty cactus in slurps and shooting dry creases across the parted lips that sputtered in her ear instead of spoke.

"Surely you m-must know, Caroline," he clucked then hissed in surprise, lowering his wilting hand from her mouth as if in slow surrender, "surely you must know why I arrive in shadowed disguise by now?"

 _No._

She'd just needed fresh air. Time away from her panicked friends to think and to breathe. Peace that only the picturesque quiet of the duck pond at the end of her property would achieve. She'd just wanted solitude. Privacy for her meticulous must-plan thoughts where she could just _be_. Just a familiar, comfortable place where she usually felt free. And now…

This was not happening, this was _not_ happening! With her seclusion invaded, with this grasping _fiend_ belting her to him with one arm and Caroline unable to flee, hands— _her_ hands—crusaded to set her free. Not with fists, not with punches…but with jaggers.

Sharp and lethal and green.

"I must say," he drawled, "it's lovely to catch you strolling beneath the full moon alone, your golden hair sparkling in the starlight." His voice dripped with ease and amusement, the only flicker of discomfort coming from his occasional hitch of breath. "You—you almost look like you belong in the sky. The resident Lady of the Moon: L-luminous. Fierce. Enchanting."

"How does it—how does it feel to be Queen of the Night?" he continued roguishly, poison probably oozing into his dropped hand and contributing to his slurred speech.

Thorns. Caroline felt nothing but thorns. Coming out, engorging from within. Aching, aching, aching to deaden those pulsating, arrogant black veins beneath his skin. Who cared why or how she suddenly possessed this new flower-power. Or where it came from. Or from what. Or from whom…

It was _hers_. Hers to hone, hers to control, hers to wield. The microscopic cells in her body buzzed with gloriously toxic striking potential, nothing but an endless reserve of thorns, thorns, thorns.

And although Caroline kept this to herself, for the first time, she felt empowered. Capable. Primed to fight. _Kill._

"Klaus," she growled in challenge, finally acknowledging him.

* * *

 ** _Weeks earlier_** :

Following her return from the Underworld, Caroline spent the next few hours submerged in worry, confusion, and secrecy, careful not to draw too much attention to the future Goddess of the Clouds resting on a canopy bed in her attic…asleep. Unconscious, but recovering. Slowly.

Feverish sleep aided in repairing Elena's injuries and replenishing the mystical sky-energy that had been nearly depleted from her bones upon arrival, but preserved the mystery as to why she'd thrown cautious yet triumphant looks over her shoulder as she'd run toward safety. Or who—what—had been responsible for the peril she had faced (and fled) in the first place?

Elena's fainting, impromptu arrival cast gloom over Forbes manor and reignited tension between mother-and-daughter. In lieu of addressing Liz's _this feels ominous_ remarks, Caroline instead focused on tending to her friend with diligence.

First, she created a fortress. Cloaking her house—and the attic room—in two must-be-invited-in seals courtesy of two enchanted casters (and best friends), Bonnie Bennett and Davina Claire. With the magical seals, they'd be better protected. Guarded. No one could cross either threshold without her or Liz's permission, thereby sweeping any lurking threat of danger away from the doors and windows like a broom…at least temporarily.

Next, Caroline cleansed Elena of dirt, debris, and knotted-disarray. She applied healing herbs to her cuts and fractured ankle, then tucked her into bed to rest. She rifled through her friend's tattered belongings, desperate for clues—for any hint of explanation—but found nothing helpful. Nothing but rocks in shoes, a blank leather-bound book, and a small canvas pouch with the word _Goddess_ stitched across the middle. Empty.

After that, Caroline alerted only those she believed she could trust or needed to know. Enzo, loyal devotee that he was, manifested at the first utterance of trouble. Proclaiming that he came _to maim or to marinate, whichever the defeat of this unknown enemy required_. He was at Caroline's service as _friend_ , _counselor, and warrior_.

Stefan, unfortunately, remained impossible to reach for he'd left on a trekking journey through the Mountain Crypts of Solitude a week ago and was still out-of-range. "Noise" in all its forms—technological, mystical, mortal, animal or otherwise—had been banned by the cryptonian monks there centuries ago. Massive sheer umbrella shields covered the temples from core to ground to sky and deflected outside interference, sound-proofing the Crypts. The Crypt Emperors, also known as spirit whisperers, warded hard against anything that could inhibit the cleansing of the soul…and that meant all sounds louder than a thought.

The purpose of Stefan's visit there melded his love of introspection with his need to nurse his broken, Elena-loving heart back to health. News of this calamity, once it finally reached him, would swell him with profound absentee guilt. Of that Caroline was sure. But that, she'd deal with later.

She had bigger problems right now—namely the eldest Salvatore. Damon, an impulsive, festering pain in her ass, never made sharing news easy. Ever.

Caroline hesitated. She toiled over the necessity of involving him partly because of his past untrustworthiness and partly because he'd probably blame Elena's current plight on _her_ incompetence (in which case she'd be compelled to rip out his jugular with blunt teeth). The words _you're the only stupid thing here_ reverberated in her head almost in preparation of his misplaced venom.

Damon's past cruelties still perforated Caroline's memory. And as a result, they'd tainted her perception of his so-called "changed ways." To make matters worse, she knew that he and Elena had been navigating through a particularly rocky, bickering stretch of relationship and weren't on the best of terms. They'd agreed to _time and space_ apart, which of course, had turned Damon into a bigger sarcastic prick than usual. Particularly towards Caroline, whom he'd targeted with sitting-in-a-tree cracks about her and Klaus.

 _Dick._

The fact of the matter was he didn't cope well with temporary grievances in his and Elena's relationship. He coped _worse_ with any kind of separation or pent-up sexual frustration. Plus, since rash destructiveness characterized his behavior under normal circumstances, when Elena factored into the equation it became a recipe for madness. Irrationality. Bloodlust and mania propelling him into precarious skirmishes in the nymph woodlands, which were checked only by Stefan's brotherly interventions.

In the end, however, Caroline reasoned that Damon (despite his laundry list of flaws) was still a boyfriend. As the current love of Elena's life (gods knew why), he'd earned the right to know. And as Elena's friend above all, she knew she needed to inform him. So Caroline did just that.

"It seems you're good in a crisis, Blondie," Damon admitted as he perched near Elena's bed. His index finger trailed his girlfriend's cheeks affectionately. "All of your high strung qualities turned out to be useful tonight instead of irritating."

"Gee, thanks."

 _Dick._

"I'm impressed."

Caroline crossed her arms. Fixed him an incredulous look.

"No, really." Irony absent from his tone, he thumbtacked her in that cool, crystal, candid way only he could. With eyes. "You didn't delay. You took control and got Elena to safety. You called the spell-caster twins stat, searched for lurking threats, rummaged for clues…"

"And while you may be _unbearably_ neurotic," he remarked caustically, averting his gaze, "you're a good friend…person. As your loser boyfriend once-upon-a-time ago, I didn't see it but I'm—but I'm grateful to know you," he choked out uncomfortably, clearing his throat and squeezing his girlfriend's hand. "I'm grateful."

Though the force and meaning of his words had not gone unfelt, Caroline shrugged and answered, "I've known Elena all my life, Damon." She peered at him sideways. "I love her. I will always love her," she said.

"The two of us grew up French braiding each other's hair, making best friend bracelets out of grape vine, tossing money-seeds into wishing water, building goddess palaces out of twigs in my backyard. She was there the day my dad left my mom. She held my hand, let me cry. She's been there…for everything."

"We've been friends for as long as I can remember—" she sighed, placing her hand on top of Damon's "—and I'd kill for her. I'd offer my own life in exchange for hers if I could."

Damon gave her a reassuring squeeze, "It will never come to that," he promised.

Glancing down at the bed, Caroline noted their three stacked hands and how they reminded her of blocks. Bricks. Sturdy alone, but stronger together.

"Regardless, I'd do anything for someone who matters to me. Anything," she stressed.

In the quiet seconds that followed, trust and appreciation stretched between them for the first time in their entire relationship. Unspoken, but true.

After a moment, lightheartedness seeped into Damon's expression. He turned to her, eyes twinkling, and said, "Anyone who underestimates you is an idiot."

"Says the guy who wears the sunshine scar I bashed into his face," Caroline laughed.

"Thank you for highlighting my point," he smirked. "I mean, who would've guessed Sunshine Barbie could throw such a mean right hook?"

xxx

Nothing roused Elena from her fitful slumber—not food or fluids, not friends, not boyfriends, not spelled medicine. The only times she stirred at all occurred in the moments when poetic gibberish tumbled from her mouth and into her pillow:

 _Broken chains._

 _Rolling plains._

 _Nightmares gallop_

 _to collect a debt unpaid_

 _from one smart face_

 _dashing through life's maze._

 _xxx_

 _Coming, coming, coming…_

 _is this promise preordained._

 _xxx_

 _—A sun of blood will rise_

 _to eclipse the world_

 _in evolutionary size._

 _Forever will it guise and advise_

 _the lands, the waters, the ashes, and skies;_

 _forever will it shine._

 _xxx_

 _Eternity wields;_

 _Eternity binds;_

 _Eternity arrives to claim the ultimate prize._

Elena muttered the words over and over again as she snored, an apocalyptic warning to be heeded.

Unfortunately, with the Naturelands entrenched in a millennia-long gods vs. mortal strife over magic energy, resources, and rule, battles raged throughout the earth kingdom _constantly_. It remained impossible for Caroline to deduce from where this prophecy (and imminent threat) heralded. The Seven-Flowered Realms? Mystic Olympus? Reeflanta? Icetrench Country? The Bouldered Ravines? The Underworld?

She didn't know. Elena's words were too veiled. Too ambiguous. But of one thing she knew for sure—danger hastened forward. It was coming, coming, coming…and she'd be prepared when it finally arrived.

xxx

The Falls gang, save Stefan, kept close vigil by their friend's bed those first few days. Whispering. Fretting. Analyzing cryptic phrases. Planning defense and strategy. Waiting.

Damon and Enzo alternated between patrolling the nymph woodlands and policing the shadowed nooks around Forbes manor. Caroline ran interference between her parents when Liz refused to let Bill enter the premises after his _deadly Underworld stunt_. Bonnie and Davina flipped through their grimoires day and night looking for any incantation that would thread Elena's worn self back together, but soon discovered that her full-recovery was bound to something larger.

"With her body and sky-energies so ravaged," Bonnie explained, "Elena draws nourishment from nature."

"Elaboration would be helpful here, casterella," Damon sniped.

"Would you shut the hell up and let them finish?" Caroline bristled.

"Excuse my crotchety friend, ladies," Enzo said as he gripped Damon hard by the shoulders, "his rudeness stems from lack of cast-blast fluency and dying concern for his ladylove." He narrowed his eyes, trying to extradite an apology from him with a single disapproving look. "Doesn't it… _mate_?"

Shrugging out of Enzo's grasp, Damon maneuvered away with a scowl.

"What he said," he grumbled begrudgingly. "Carry on."

Davina ignored the interruption and proceeded, "As a future cloud goddess, Elena's spirit has access to the heavenly reserves of Mystic Olympus. She can siphon power from the globe's sun-rotations and from the night's skies to heal herself."

"She _will_ recover, then?" Caroline asked, hopeful.

Bonnie nodded, but gave her friend a cautioning look, weighing her response. "Eventually…" she faltered.

Damon snarled under his breath.

"Since nature is slow, recuperation will—" she paused "—recuperation will take time…" she explained.

Concern crinkled Caroline's forehead. "How much time?"

"Elena will not wake," Bonnie began with a sharp intake of breath, "until the dusk before the next full moon."

 _Crap. Crap, crap, crap._

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Damon groaned.

One month.

Elena Gilbert could not rise from that bed or walk out that of that room for _one month_. That meant 30 more days tainted with the riddle of her disheveled arrival in Caroline's backyard. That meant 720 hours more full of worry, threat, and magical concealment. That meant 43,200 more minutes until anything more could be done for her.

Now, all _any_ of them could do was pray for peace, plan for war, and wait for answers or nightmares.

…Whichever came first.

* * *

 ** _One month later, morning_** :

The passing of four unprovoking weeks back at home had done little to quell Caroline's uneasiness—only heightened it. Something felt wrong. Off.

She couldn't blink away the memory of Elena barreling through her family's apple orchard consumed in hissing green thunder clouds, her eyes wild, her hair teased into a crown of knots on her head, dragging an injured ankle behind her covered in dandelions and blades of grass; any more than she could reconcile the fact that Klaus hadn't contacted her at all since she'd returned to the Naturelands. Not once.

There were no leaves-to-be-read in her mobile leaflet. No missed chirp-calls or chirpmails were left for her to hear. No forever-friend requests were sent to her on social media. _Nada_.

Nothing but silence thicker than death.

Caroline would've been offended had she not found his prolonged silence bizarre. Suspicious. Klaus had flirted with her in the Underworld, okay? _A lot_. He'd bought her clothes and gifted her a flying horse, for crying out loud! More than that, however, he'd made a point to tell her that his sister had both invented and institutionalized intra-world communication.

In fact, the King of Darkness had freaking _bragged_ about his modern technology usage:

 _Don't let my age fool you, sweetheart,_ he'd winked, _I can keep up with all the leafing, chirp-calling, and tweeting of your millennial generation just fine. I'm what you'd call an ancient pro_ , he'd said.

 _Is that so?_

He'd nodded and arched an eyebrow. _Let's just say I'll know if you try to dodge me._

 _And if I do? What then, O'Savy One?_ she'd taunted.

Head cocked to the side, Klaus' gaze had darkened and a low wolfish sound had rumbled from his chest as he'd mused in that self-assured way of his, _You won't, Caroline. You won't._

His words essentially implied, if not promised, future contact, right? Why bait? Why dawdle? Why had he not picked a stinking technology and _initiated_? Unless…unless…

 ** _Present, beneath the full moon_** :

"Klaus."

As Caroline breathed his name, the consonants scraping across her tongue as harsh and as frigid as an iceberg, she leaned back against his invisible form. Her grip on his wrist tightened, but did not wound again. Not yet. "What an unexpected not to mention _unwelcome_ surprise," she said through clenched teeth.

"Missed me bad this past month, have you, love?"

She scoffed in disgust, "You wish."

Affronted, he tsked. "And here I believed I'd made a decent first impression?"

"Think again."

"How disappointing to be mistaken," he said with an exaggerated sigh. "Listen—" his warm breath tickled the back of her neck "if you're sore about my lack of contact I can—"

" _Save it_ , King Darko," Caroline interrupted. "I'm immune to your charming excuses, you got me?"

Amused, Klaus chuckled and tried a different tack, "I detect a lot of _powerful_ animosity emanating from you today; and while I find this new side of you delightfully fascinating," he hummed, "perhaps we can be civil and declare a truce for a few moments? I think it's time we—what is it you silly earth-dwellers like to say, hm?"

Baiting her, he bent closer and whispered intimately in her ear, "I think it's time we _clear the cloudy air_ , don't you?" There was a slight edge to his voice. "We both value honesty (prefer it, I should say), so let's lay out all of those hidden cards—reveal all of those aces and spades tucked up sleeves for only careful, cunning eyes to see…" he continued in that cool, charming way.

Their tethered proximity collapsed air in Caroline's lungs and fired goosebumps raised in _DANGER DANGER DANGER_ down her spine. Her accelerating heartbeat crashed cymbals against her eardrums. But she was brazen and strong. Unafraid.

Lifting her chin in opposition, she huffed in reply, "Frankly, I don't see why I should do _any_ such thing."

"Yes," Klaus growled as he reined her tighter against him, "you do." His pinky pressed into her hip bone with pressure and purpose. Harder. Deeper. "You and I _both_ know I came here for a reason, Caroline."

 _A reason._

Yes, Caroline knew he had a reason; she knew it lurked behind the savage warning in his words. Better, thanks to Elena's dusk-awakening explanation, she knew the truth now…all that this god-awful immortal _snake_ coveted for his Underworld kingdom…all that he hunted in the Naturelands tonight while cloaked in midnight and shadow…that precise _something_ he needed to make himself truly omnipotent. Unstoppable. The King of Almighty Kings.

Still shrouded in invisibility, Caroline couldn't see him…only feel him. Behind her. Against her. Breath ragged yet expectant against her neck. Pulse powerful and erratic. One arm tense around her waist. Solid. Possessive.

It, and he, drummed with contradiction: his arm firm enough to hold her in place, but lax enough to let her move. It felt as if he'd somehow fastened a collar of ownership around her waist, but no leash. Like he'd staked a claim, but she remained free.

One twirl is all it would take—one twirl away from him and Caroline could leave. Escape.

But she didn't move.

Instead, she cemented her feet on the lip of the duck pond and spoke over her right shoulder, her fingers suddenly thrumming, thrumming with energy over the masculine wrist she still held, "Rumor has it you rarely leave your red-skied Hot Box and that you prefer to dispatch your emissaries to complete business here for you. Is the Naturelands' sun too tepid for your taste, your Highness, or do you merely revel in barking orders at your moon-howling slave army from your throne of bones?" Caroline asked demurely yet pointedly.

If Klaus wanted a discussion, she'd give him one…in verbal fistfuls.

"Neither, I assure you," he replied in monotone.

"Tell me, then, King of Darkness," she proceeded haughtily, "why _are_ you here?" Caroline wanted to hear him say it out loud. Right here, right now. "Tell me what you're here to collect."

Air flared in and out, in and out of his nostrils and gusted against the back of her head, ruffling curls and building suspense between them with flame and flickering embers. Burning, burning to erupt and spread.

"I want you to be honest with me about what you want."

Klaus went rigid behind her, darkness swallowing him deeper into night's shadowed dust and debris. He leaned in close again, "Come with me and I'll tell you," he purred.

Caroline snorted in disgust.

"Come with me, Caroline."

Thundering red fog suddenly smoked over her ankles, then her knees. It billowed to her waist and shoulders in a dawdling counterclockwise rotation and feathered across her body like a soft caress from a sun-blazed cloud, massaging her with relaxing steam—not heat. Almost like it sensed that warmth soothed her and she'd want to blanket herself. Cuddle into it.

"I have a better idea," she countered, still fighting, the intensity between them increasing, "how about you singe your ass all the way back to the Underworld where you belong and leave me the _hell_ alone?"

Klaus' answering laugh turned hard. Serious. "You will find little peace here after this, sweetheart. No harmony."

"Says who?"

"Says _me_."

Caroline shivered at the snarling emphasis he'd placed on those last two words, but she wasn't afraid. Only…uncertain. Of Elena, of this prophecy, of this alluring whistle in her bones…of him most of all.

"Come away with me," Klaus repeated in that melodious tone. He spoke in lullaby. Calm and sensuous and low.

The fog pecked at her neck in teasing love bites next, then kissed at her chin with intoxicating ease. What would happen if it brushed across her lips? Wafted into her nostrils? Stung her open eyes? Encircled her entire head?

"Come away with me and I'll explain how your home—how this precious green leafy land will be infiltrated soon by Cloud Conquerors such as this world has never seen," he continued. "Come away because it's not safe here and you need training to master your gifts. Come away because I am not the only one who will be able to smell fresh magic on your breath; I am not the only one who will be tempted to taste it."

"Don't waste your potential here," he added.

Her legs wobbled and her heart plummeted to her intestines like a rock, but Caroline couldn't move. She couldn't find air for her lungs as she gaped down at her tingling fingers. Lips cracked and dry, her tongue scraped—raked the roof of her mouth in search of retaliatory words that wouldn't come. They wouldn't come.

"Come with me, Caroline," he whispered one final time.

 _What had he done, what had he done, what had he done._

Anger and betrayal and disbelief exploded down—across her in rivets, those strange itchy thorns swelling to maturity again in her finger-bones. They were nothing but a blade arsenal waiting to be unsheathed…growling with hunger and bitterness and vengeance…thirsting to pierce and protect…hissing with poison, poison, poison. Away, away—they threatened to sweep Caroline away into a vortex of doom and decay.

Power. Emotion.

They'd converged and multiplied throughout the human cells beneath her skin, that tick-tick-ticking dynamite sparking and sizzling in nerves just waiting for the ignition of that lighted match, horror and exhilaration coating the back of the throat, that sweet-sour taste of nectar intoxicating enough for her to drown, drown, drown. Unstable, unpredictable, power and emotion engulfed her in thick crackling gasoline flames.

—Butterfly Rage and Euphoria raced. They accelerated forward with lightspeed wings that flapped and fluttered and pounded hard, tense heartbeats across the rippling confusion of Caroline's mind. Doubt and Certainty fenced with swords drenched in bloody sweat and dirty tears, trampling her clear and open thoughts with muck from a deer's fleeing hooves. Fear wrestled with Bravado and smashed Fury's face flat into the earth until teeth ground with the gritty taste of gravel. Acceptance. Appreciation. They rocked back-and-forth on heels, thumbs twiddling and eyes peeled to procure an open path by which to pass. But none of the internal conflict mattered when Surprise knocked her backwards. Flat on her ass.

 _What had he done, what had he done, what had he done._

All Caroline saw was an inescapable abyss.

All Caroline smelled was fire and ash and dread.

All Caroline heard was noise. Lightning. Thunder. Meteorites. Asteroids. Comets. Muffled screams of the living and dead.

All Caroline tasted was fizzing wine swirling flat. Soaking her soul in colors of red, red, red.

All Caroline felt was a knotted rope attached at her navel. How its slack coiled around and around her legs, wrists, heart, and head and laced her up in the ultraviolet shimmering of stardust and milky way. Painting her spirit into galaxy-streaks with colliding planets that enjoy to fight more than play.

The sky eclipsed as the full moon reached its apex and bubbled her in the scent of golden, glittering bread, raining loaves of color into a crown that swirled loosely and freely around her head. Darkness cracked like an egg over her, dripping down—sweeping out and swinging in—freezing her lovely face into youthful stone and solidifying the rest of her graceful, vibrant body into ageless stone, crystallizing all of that lethality into pockets of her tissue now fully grown.

In the time it took her eyelashes to blink from end to end, the evolution of Caroline Forbes had initiated, invaded, and spread. The universe now no longer marked her as a green-thumbed mortal, but as a flower-weapon of spring not just alive…

…but immortal. Undead.

* * *

 ** _"When darkness falls and eyes stay shut_**

 ** _A chain of voices opens up._**

 ** _Let wax not wane give birth to death."_**

 **—Yvonne Woon**

* * *

 **A/N** **: A quick fluffy-to-angsty turnaround in Caroline's treatment and reaction to Klaus, right? (Especially compared to Klaroline's interaction in chapter one). But the mystery behind the drastic change WILL be unraveled in the chapters ahead. ;)**

 **I'm not particularly sure if I'm satisfied with this chapter, so let me know what you think. Feedback rocks. Until next time, thanks for reading!**

 **xx**


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